Devoted One
by Hadles
Summary: A young troll woman becomes entangled in the murder of her mother. All OCs. I do not own Warcraft. Pre-Cataclysm.
1. The Pearl

(Author's Note: Italics indicates that the characters are speaking in Zandali, the language of the trolls)

* * *

><p>"<em>What do you have there, Jenxa?<em>"

Jenxa looked up, instinctively closing her hand around the pearl. Mama was lying on her bed in the corner of the hut, the fur coverlet pulled up over her head. Only her eyes, dull and red for lack of sleep, were visible beneath the mountain of furs. "_Nothing, Mama. Please try to get some rest. Dinner will be ready in a little while._" Dropping the pearl in her pocket, Jenxa picked up another oyster and scraped the meat out into the pot. She offered her mother a smile. "_The village boys brought in oysters today_."

Mama pushed back the coverlet and sat up. She was naked. Her once toned muscles were wasted down to the bone. Jenxa could count the number of ribs in her stomach. Purple-black bedsores gaped on her lower back. Her wounds oozed blood. Tiny rivulets of black spilled down her spine, staining the cot beneath her a nasty red. "_You had something. It was shiny. I saw it._" With an agonizing groan, Jenxa's mother shifted to face her. The troll woman's red eyes stared out from their deep sockets. Mama's face was skeletal. Jenxa quickly looked away. "_Come here, show it to me._" Slowly, mother reached out one of her bony hands.

Jenxa dutifully rose, dropping her knife in the oyster bucket. Fishing the pearl out of her pocket, she dropped it in her mother's hand. "_It's just a little pearl. I found it in one of the oysters._" Jenxa tried again to smile. "_Isn't it pretty_?"

Mama peered at the pearl, eyes foggy with exhaustion and sickness. The pearl gleamed in her hand like a tiny fragment of starlight. "_It's very pretty._" Mama answered in her soft, wheezy voice. "_I hear there's a goblin merchant in town. You should go sell it to him. He might give you good money._" Shakily, she handed the pearl back.

Jenxa frowned, plucking the pearl from her mother's palm. "_I was thinking about keeping it…if that's all right with you._" She paused, staring deeply into her mother's sunken face. "_It's just that…it's just a small pearl, you know, not worth much anyhow._"

Mama's face was expressionless. She was too weak and tired to waste energy on expressions. Still, Jenxa could feel the heat emanating from her. "_Don't be stupid, girl. Go sell that pearl and buy me some more of the witch doctor's red potion. My bedsores are getting bad again_." She waved Jenxa off. "_Get back to your pot. You want the oysters to burn?_"

"_No…_" Jenxa's hand closed around the pearl.

"_Then get going and don't bother me anymore_." With that, Jenxa's mother slumped down on the bed, pulling the fur coverlet back up over her face. Her body gave off the tangy odor of sweat. Their hut was like a sauna. Mama demanded a fire going at all times and the thick mud walls kept the heat in. Jenxa wiped the sweat off her brow.

The Sen'jin village witch doctor didn't know what was wrong with Mama, only that she was very sick and very weak. '_She probably won't live for much longer, Jenxa. You be a good daughter and do what she asks of you._' The witch doctor had whispered to her back when Mama first started getting ill. That was four years ago, back when the trolls had first come with the orcs to Durotar. All Mama asked for was a little hut and a fire at first. Then came the demands for furs and special potions. Every day, it was something new. Jenxa sliced open another oyster and dropped it into the pot.

"_Jenxy…_" Mama moaned from her corner, muffled by her pile of furs.

"_Yes, Mama_?"

"_Jenxy…get me my red potions. I'm hurting._" She whimpered, peering at Jenxa from her fur nest.

"_I'll go sell the pearl and get you some. Hold on._" Wrapping her hand in a cloth, Jenxa pulled the boiling pot of oysters from the fire. Setting it on the floor, she walked over to her mother's cot. Gently, she placed a hand on the breathing mound of furs. "_Mama?_"

"_What, girl_?" The shivering troll woman hissed, pulling her furs tighter around her. Jenxa could feel her mother's body beneath the piles of hides, as fragile and tiny as the pearl in her pocket. Her body used to be plump and healthy. She used to have iron muscles. She used to bang swords and drink with the men, confident and powerful and loved by all. Four years ago, though, some odd poison had gotten into her blood and reduced her to the spindly creature lying here in the bed. Be a good daughter, the witch doctor had said. Just keep her comfortable until she dies, it won't be long. Four years. Sometimes, Jenxa found herself wanting to smother the old woman. Just grab a pillow and choke her, or take a knife and slit her throat. It would be easy, like killing a pig. Hell, it would be an act of mercy at this point!

She hated herself for thinking such things.

"_Mama, I just want you to know…I still love you_." Jenxa whispered, stroking the fur coverlet. "_Do you hear me, Mama? I love you._"

"_Don't say stupid things, girl. Hurry up and get me my potions_."'

"_Yes, Mama_." Slowly, Jenxa rose to her feet. For a few seconds, she stood there unmoving, frozen in time. Her mother stared back at her, red eyes glowing like cinders in her skull-face. As if in a dream, Jenxa turned and left the hut. The pearl suddenly felt heavy in her pocket. Pulling it out, Jenxa turned it over in her hand. The light played across it in shimmering patterns, seducing the eye with its subtle waves and swirls. Jenxa had no more money. All their gold went to buying furs and potions and food, all the things to help Mama die in comfort. How much money would one tiny pearl bring?

Jenxa gripped the pearl. It was hot against her palm, like a tiny beating heart. Breaking into a run, the troll girl stampeded toward the beach. She skidded to a halt at the edge of the water. The ocean frothed and burbled, churning all the way up to the horizon. With one sweep of her arm, Jenxa flung the pearl into the sea.


	2. The Death

"_Master Gadrin?_"

Four years. Gadrin silently did the calculations in his head. One thousand four hundred and sixty days. Antu had been dying for one thousand four hundred and sixty days.

Gadrin turned from his work and smiled at Jenxa. "_Yes_, atal'ai?" Atal'ai. The orcs translated it as 'devoted one', but even that didn't convey all the subtle shades of meaning. 'Atal' was not just mere devotion, but unfailing, almost fanatic loyalty. The 'atal'ai' was someone who loved beyond love. Four years ago, Gadrin had told Jenxa to be a good daughter and take care of her dying mother. She had listened.

Jenxa stood silhouetted against the bright midday sky. She was pale. Her arms hung limp at her sides, unmoving. "_Master Gadrin...will you please come with me?_" Gadrin stared up at the girl, startled by the sound of her voice. Normally, Jenxa ran around Sen'jin village piping like a songbird. Today, her voice was as deadpan as her expression. Her face was a blank slate, her yellow eyes wide and empty.

Slowly, Gadrin rose. "_What's_ _wrong_, _girl_?"

"_I think…_" Jenxa paused, her frozen expression breaking. A tear rolled down her cheek, cutting a shimmering streak through the dust coating her face. "_I think that my mother is dead_."

Gadrin let out a sigh. He reached out and clapped a hand on the girl's shoulder. "_I'll get some men to come around and pick up the body. We'll cleanse her and bury her tonight._" He offered her a sympathetic smile. "_Don't cry, dear. Don't cry. We knew this was coming, didn't we? Antu wouldn't be pleased to see you crying._"

Another few tears spilled down Jenxa's face. Her chest hitched with suppressed sobs. She clutched his wrist. "_Master Gadrin…_" She paused, body heaving with quiet sobs. "_Master Gadrin, I think that I killed her._"

For a moment, Gadrin held his breath. He stared at the troll girl gripping his arm. The skin around her eyes was purple and puffy and her cheeks were striped with tear tracks. The skin under her jaw was mottled green and black with the beginnings of a bruise. "_What do you mean, Jenxa? What happened?_"

Her hand closed around his. Her hands were soft, the hands of a girl who'd never lifted anything heavy. Wiping the tears off her face, she lead him toward her hut. Jenxa and Antu lived alone on the far side of the village, their hut placed far away from all the others. Their hut was a tiny mud structure, the walls packed hard to keep the infection inside. Jenxa had lived all these years in a quarantine hut. As they approached, Gadrin covered his mouth with a cloth. If Antu was truly dead, then the infection was free to seek another host.

The hut was dark and quiet. The only light inside came from the dying fire in the brick oven. Two small cots stood in the corner of the room, one piled high with thick furs and pillow and the other nearly bare. A low stone table filled the space between the cots and the oven. Draped across the table was a thin, nearly skeletal figure, a fire poker jutting out her chest. Puddles of blood spilled onto the table, soaking into the crevasses of the rock and spilling onto the dirt floor. Gadrin stood in the doorway, clutching the hand of the troll girl. Jenxa sobbed quietly, face hidden in her arm. Her palms were stained red.

"_Antu._" Gadrin breathed, letting go of Jenxa's hand. The cloth covering his mouth dropped to the floor. The fire poker pinned Antu to the table, forced in so hard that no amount of pulling could budge it. Gadrin yanked and pushed, but the fire poker remained firmly lodged in the corpse's chest. He turned sharply toward Jenxa, who shied away. "_Who did this?_"

"_I did_." Jenxa responded.

Gadrin narrowed his eyes. "_I don't believe you. You're not strong enough. It'd take a berserker to force this thing in so far._" He gestured wildly to the poker. "_You expect me to believe a little girl-whelp like you did this? A little skinny-armed girl? Tell me the truth, Jenxa_."

Jenxa let out a desperate cry, the tears beginning afresh. "_I did it, I did it! There was a pearl and Mama was mad and she came at me with the poker and I got so scared and I don't know what happened and I grabbed it out of her hand and I killed her!_" She let out a pained squeal, like a kicked dog, and dropped to her knees, crying hard into her hands. Gadrin stared at her. Her palms were indeed red, but was that solid evidence?

"_Tell me the truth, girl. You couldn't have killed Antu. You couldn't have._" Gadrin whispered, kneeling down next to her. Gently, he gripped her shoulders. Gadrin had seen Antu alive just the other day. The old woman could barely move, let alone lift a heavy fire poker and attack her daughter with it. And Jenxa! Jenxa was like most traditional troll girls, a lovely little peach but too soft to kill anyone. Whoever had killed Antu had shoved the fire poker clear through the old women, hard enough to lodge it in the stone table beneath her. A little flower like Jenxa could not have done that. "_Is it a boy? Are you covering for a boy you like? Jenxa, listen to Gadrin, no boy is worth—_"

"_It's not a boy_!" Jenxa screamed hoarsely, shoving his hands away from her. "_If a boy killed my mother, I wouldn't let him live! I killed her! I took the fire poker and I killed her!_"

Gadrin slapped her across the face. "_Hush, girl! Do you want the whole village to hear? Do you know what they'll do if they hear you? They will stone you to death, girl. Do you want that? Do you?_"

Jenxa whimpered, covering her face with her hands. "_I deserve it._"

Gadrin pulled her hands away from her face. "_Listen to me, Jenxa. Stop crying, listen to me!_" The troll girl stared at him, her yellow eyes awash with tears. "_I don't know how this happened, whether this was an accident or a murder. I don't believe you did it, but there is nothing I can do to force you to tell the truth._"

Jenxa wailed. "_Why don't you believe me! I did it!_"

Gadrin growled. "_Don't make me slap you again, girl! If the village hears you murdered your own mother, they will kill you. They will tie you up, drag you out into the square, and stone you to death. You are a good girl, _atal'ai_. I know you loved your mother. You would not do such an unnatural thing._"

"_Master Gadrin…_"

"_Hush! You will listen to me. I know you are a good girl. I had hoped that one day you would be a good wife for my young brother. But that is not to be_, atal'ai. _You will die if you stay here. You are lucky you spoke to me first. I can save you._"

"_But…_"

"_I said, be quiet! Listen, I have lived a long time and I have seen many things. There are many people who owe me favors_." He gripped her shoulders hard. "_Go to Orgrimmar. Speak to the priest trainer and tell him I sent you. Learn to be a priest. You are too soft to fight, but if you work hard, you can learn to heal. Your training will take you far away from here. No one will know what happened._"

"_Master Gadrin, I_…"

"_Do not speak. You will do as I say. I will take care of the body. Go!_" Jenxa scrambled to her feet, nearly tripping over the hem of her dress. For a moment, she hesitated, staring down at the old troll before her. She gazed at him, then at the body, then back at him. Finally, she turned and ran. Slowly, Gadrin rose. The hut stunk of sweat and filth and disease. He turned to look at Antu's body. Many years ago, she had been a beautiful and powerful troll warrior. The wasted thing on the table was but a shell of what she used to be, a useless husk. No one would miss her. No one would ask about her death.

Gadrin knelt next to the body. "_Your girl's going to be a healer, Antu_." Leaning his whole body against the fire poker, he managed to dislodge it. "_It's funny, isn't it?_"


	3. The Guards

"Did you hear?"

The orc guardsman set his tankard down on the table, peering sidelong at his companion. "Hear what?" He asked gruffly, shifting to face his friend.

"Troll lady got murdered in Sen'jin. It was damn brutal, too." His wide-eyed friend replied, wiggling his fingers mystically. "Got a fire poker shoved clear through her chest."

The guardsman snorted indifferently, taking a long draught from his tankard. "And what do I care about some murdered troll woman?"

"Murderer's still on the loose." His companion replied, "Fella' must be strong as an ox to force a blunt poker all the way through someone's spine."

"Eh. Trolls die every day."

Jenxa tensed. She clenched her hands, staring hard into the dirt floor. A bead of sweat rolled down her cheek and dripped off her chin. The two orcs at the bar moved onto other subjects, one commenting idly about the quality of the ale and the other grunting in agreement. Jenxa breathed deeply. She placed a hand over her chest. Her heart hammered so rapidly that she couldn't even count the beats.

"Excuse me, ma'am?" The orc innkeeper approached her from the side as she stood in the tavern door way. Jenxa nearly pissed herself in fright. She let out a little squeal. The innkeeper stumbled back, hands held up in defeat. "Hey, hey! I didn't mean to scare you, missy. You all right?"

Jenza let out a nervous, high pitched giggle and grinned stupidly at the innkeeper. "Y-yah!" She replied hoarsely. Her orcish came out slightly garbled, muddled by a strong trollish accent. Jenxa blushed, looking back down at the ground. She never had to speak orcish in Sen'jin. There were occasionally visitors from Orgrimmar, yes, but Jenxa never had cause to talk to them.

"All right, all right. Sorry for frightenin' you." The orc innkeeper apologized with a big, friendly smile. Jenxa breathed deeply, trying to put herself at ease. "Can I get you anythin'? You've been standin' there in the doorway for a while now. Have a seat. We got some fine ales, fresh from Orgrimmar."

"O-oh, I dun drink, mistah. No, not me." Jenxa replied, shaking her head. "I…I, ah, I jus' wan ta, ta get a map ta Orgrimmah, if…if ya dun mind." Master Gadrin said to go to Orgrimmar and find the priest trainer. Jenxa had fled the village, just like he told her to, but, really, she couldn't be blamed for getting lost. Jenxa never left Sen'jin, not even on errands. Mother wouldn't let her. The red desert road from Sen'jin to Razor Hill was as unfamiliar as the bottom of the ocean to Jenxa.

"You wanna get to Orgrimmar?" The orc innkeeper replied, "Well, it's not far. A day's walk north, I'd say. Just follow the road." He looked Jenxa up and down. Jenxa clenched and unclenched her hands. The hem of her skirt was ripped and dirty from the walk from Sen'jin to Razor Hill. Her long dress caught on the thorny bushes growing in the road. The bottoms of her feet were dusty and cracked. Her bare shoulders and neck were dark blue with sunburn. On top of that, she didn't even have a map or a change of clothes. One didn't make long hikes without preparation. It was a miracle she'd even made it this far. "Pardon me, ma'am, but you don't look much like a traveler. You forget your pack at home or somethin'?"

"Oh…Oh, no. I dun have no pack." Jenxa replied, shaking her head. "I wuz…I wuz in a hurry, yah. Couldn't pack. Th-thank ya for the help, sah." Jenxa bowed stiffly to the innkeeper and turned, heading back out the door. The innkeeper reached out and caught her shoulder, jerking her back.

"Hey, just hold on a moment, will ya? Are you just going to walk into the desert unarmed? With no food or drink or anything?" The innkeeper said, holding fast to her shoulder. "There are raptors and harpies out there. You'll get yourself killed if you just go strollin' through the ravine. A lass like you can't stand up to a raptor."

Jenxa hesitated in the door, wriggling out of the innkeeper's grip. She turned around to face him. "I…I dun got no money fer weapons or food." She replied. "I jus' gotta get ta Orgrimmah, sah."

"You shouldn't go alone. It's dangerous." The innkeeper glanced over his shoulder. The two guardsmen at the bar were watching them quietly, eyebrows raised. "Hey, you two!" The orc innkeeper called to them. The two guards exchanged glances. Very gently, the innkeeper took hold of Jenxa's hand and led her toward the guardsmen. "This lass needs an escort to Orgrimmar. Since you two are off duty, maybe you could help her."

The first guard snorted derisively. "I got better things to do with my time than hold some stupid troll girl's hand. The road's right outside. She can walk, can't she?" The guard's companion frowned deeply at him and rose from his seat. He bowed to Jenxa.

"My worg's outside. I'll give you a ride, miss. Much faster than walking." The second guard said. He smiled at Jenxa, a friendly, trusting smile. His face was smoother than his friend's, clean shaven and unscarred. His friend huffed, turning back to his drink. "M'name's Karg, ma'am."

"Thank ya." Jenxa replied, bowing her head.

"It's no trouble, ma'am. Any honorable guard woulda done the same." The orc – Karg – smirked at his companion, who paid him no attention. Jenxa tried to smile but couldn't. Just a few minutes ago, she'd walked in to hear those two orcs discussing the murder of her mother. Word travelled exceptionally fast, even in the desert. Master Gadrin was right. She wouldn't be safe until she was far, far away. Karg squinted at her curiously. "Say, ma'am, did you come from Sen'jin?"

Jenxa's blood turned to ice. "Yah…?" She replied uncertainly.

"Well, then, you'd know about the murder, right?"

"M-murdah?" Jenxa echoed, trying her best to sound innocent and unassuming. Her quiet, wavering voice betrayed her. Just the word 'murder' sounded like a confession.

"Yeah. It's a funny story. Sounds like one of the spook tales my brothers used to tell me." Karg began, "An old woman and her beautiful daughter living alone outside the village. Then, one day, the woman turns up dead and her daughter's nowhere to be found. My friend was stationed in the village and caught wind of it. Real mysterious, huh?"

Jenxa let out a painful, choked laugh. "Mysterious, yah!" She repeated stupidly.

Karg examined her critically. "So you _have_ heard of it?"

Jenxa blanched. "N-nah! I dun know nuffin' 'bowt a murdah." She took a few hurried steps back toward the door, "I…I gotta go. I gotta get to Orgrimmah."

The guard and the innkeeper both stepped forward to stop her, but it was too late. Jenxa bolted. She tore through the sleepy town square, following the signs that pointed her toward Orgrimmar. Images of her mother, gurgling and squirming, pinned to the table by a fire poker, flashed in her mind. The sun overhead beat cruelly down on her. Behind her, she could hear the voice of the orc guard and the innkeeper, calling after her, asking where she was going. Jenxa couldn't stop, not for anything. She kept running.


	4. The Investigation

"Karg, Gren? Come in here, will you?"

Karg rose from the bench. He and Gren stood outside the Orgrimmar Guard barracks. Their commander, Captain Gorrum, pushed back the curtain sealing off his office and gestured for them to come inside. Karg half bowed to Gorrum as he passed. Gren, meanwhile, didn't even glance at the commander. Once inside, the two guards sat themselves down on a pair of barrels. Gorrum let the curtain fall back over the doorway. He turned, sighing, and walked over to the two young guards. "Listen, you two." He began in his soft, grumbling voice. Gorrum was a retired war veteran and it read on every inch of his body. A large, dark green burn scar covered a good portion of his right side, marring his face and arm. His right eye was missing, the empty socket covered by a rudimentary leather patch. "I take it you've heard about the murder in Sen'jin."

"Of course." Karg answered. Gren simply grunted.

"I know what you're thinking, boys. Trolls die every day – a little murder like this shouldn't cause a stir. But you know how superstitious trolls are." Gorrum snorted, digging through a nearby drawer. He found a cigar and lit it, chewing meditatively on the end. "Woman dead under mysterious circumstances, her daughter gone without a trace. Creepy stuff. It's causing a bit of a stir down in Sen'jin and the Valley of Trials. Master Gadrin's trying to contain it, but…" Gorrum sighed again, taking the cigar out of his mouth. "You see where I'm going with this?"

"Sen'jin has its own guard force. Why aren't they taking care of it?" Gren sniffed. Karg frowned at him.

"You call that pathetic little squadron a guard force?" Gorrum gave a wheezy chuckle. "Just a few village boys with maces. I can't spare my best men for something like this, so if you two boys will just go down there…sniff around…try to put the villagers at ease, I'll appreciate it."

Karg squinted at the commander. "You want us to investigate the murder?"

"Asking around a bit wouldn't hurt. It's been a couple days, though. I suspect our murderer is probably long gone." Gorrum responded, taking a puff on his cigar. "I just think a pair of Orgrimmar trained guards would help put the village at ease. If you find out something, of course, report back, but I don't expect anything to turn up."

Gren groaned loudly. "So that's it? You're taking us off our shift and putting us on some crap job, just to make those blue monkeys feel a little better?"

Karg scowled at his companion. "Don't call them that. They're valuable allies to the Horde."

"I'll call them whatever the hell I want. The only thing they're good for is making rum and babies."

Gorrum glowered at them. "Hush up, both of you. I don't care about how you feel about the trolls. Warchief wants 'em in the Horde. It's our duty as guards to protect the citizens of the Horde." He tapped his cigar, letting the ash fall onto the dirt floor. "Now…I don't know why you signed up for the guard – whether the army wouldn't take you or you're just too chicken to leave Durotar – but as long as you're here, you listen to me."

Gren bowed his head. "Yes, sir."

Gorrum smiled. "Well, all right, then." He puffed on his cigar again, blowing the smoke out his nose. "You two get your asses down to Sen'jin."

Karg and Gren rose from their seats. Gorrum nodded once to each of them. As Karg turned to leave, he found himself thinking of the troll girl he'd met in Razor Hill just the other day, the nervous one who hovered uncertainly in the inn doorway while he and Gren shared a drink. Just before he reached the door, he stopped and turned to face the commander. Gorrum raised his left eyebrow at him, the only eyebrow he had left. "What happens if we find the daughter?"

"The daughter of the murdered woman?" Gorrum replied. "Well, I guess that'd be something. Why? You meet the girl?"

"I dunno. I met a weird troll girl yesterday."

Gren sniffed. "The whole damn race is weird."

"Well…if you find the daughter, do what you like. Question her, whatever makes you happy." Gorrum replied with a shrug.

Karg frowned over his shoulder as he turned back toward the door. "All right."

* * *

><p>Karg admittedly didn't know much about trolls. He didn't understand how a small time witchdoctor like Gadrin could become one of Vol'jin's most trusted consultants. When he and Gren approached the village, Gadrin, still wearing his voodoo mask, was kicking a ball back and forth with a few troll children, laughing gently as they chased after it. As they drew closer, Gadrin looked up. The old troll witchdoctor removed his mask and inclined his head toward the two guards. "Greetin's, mons." He said. His accent was thick, but not quite as thick as others. Here was a troll who'd been dealing with orcs for quite a while. "Dey sent ya to look into the murdah, yah?"<p>

Karg bowed respectfully to the old witchdoctor. "Yes. We're from Orgrimmar. M'name's Karg. My friend here is Gren."

Gadrin handed the ball off to one of the troll children. They scurried off with it, shooting the orc guards a suspicious look before departing. Gadrin chuckled, giving the children a wave goodbye. As soon as the kids were out of sight, though, his face hardened. "It be a shame indeed. Antu an' her daughter were good women. My village mourns their passin'. Anythin' ya could do to ease their worries would be welcome."

Karg took a step forward. "If there's anything you could tell us…about the murdered woman or her daughter…we'd love to hear it. Is the body still in the hut?"

Gadrin shook his head. "No, no, mon. When a troll be murdah'd, it not be good to keep it above ground. Breeds bad spirits. I wouldn't bring a curse on dis village by leavin' da body out." Gadrin ran a thumb over his wooden voodoo mask. "Yer free ta look in da hut, though. Might be sometin' left. As fer Jenxa an' Antu…well, there ain't much to say, mon."

Karg raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean by that?"

Gadrin shrugged. "Eh. Well, Antu – the murdah'd woman – she was a helluva warriah when she was young. But she got terrible sick. Nuffin' would cure her. We expected her to die soon anyway." He replied. "An' Jenxa…well, she was a good girl. Pretty an' quiet, a right proper woman. She took care o' Antu all dis time. Me poor bruddah, Minshina, was _so_ in love wit her. It's a shame she vanished like she did."

"So you don't think she ran off with your brother?"

Gadrin let out a loud guffaw. "I tink I woulda noticed if me bruddah disappeared, mon!" He grinned at them, shaking his head lightly. "But…feel free to look aroun'. If ya can figger out what happened, well, I know I'd be grateful."

Karg bowed to the troll witchdoctor, who affixed the voodoo mask back to his face. Gadrin gestured toward the edge of the village, where a lone mud hut stood apart from the others. Nodding to Gren (who snorted nastily), Karg made his way toward the hut. A foul smell seemed to surround the place. The tangy, iron scent of blood pervaded the air. Karg ducked into the house. A fire poker lay abandoned near the stove, crusty with dried blood. The stone table in the center of the one room hut was cracked badly, as if someone had tried to break it with a pick. Gren followed him into the hut, grimacing at the stench. "It reeks in here." He growled.

"There was a sick lady living in here. Plagues have been known to stink." Karg replied, walking over to the beds in the corner. He pulled back the piles of fur coverlets and sneered when he saw the blood soaked cot beneath. He quickly dropped the furs. "Elements. What was this lady dying of, anyway?"

"Who cares. We aren't healers." Gren grunted. "It's clear what happened, isn't it?"

Karg frowned. "No, it isn't. Explain?"

"Tired, put-upon daughter mercy kills her sick mother and flees before anyone finds out."

"You haven't heard the rumors, have you?" Karg walked to the oven and picked up the crusty fire poker. "This poker…" He took the poker and walked to the low stone table. There was a chip in the table that fit the end of the fire poker exactly, "…was lodged in this table. Whoever killed the lady skewered her right through her spine and pinned her to a rock. I don't think a young girl could have done that."

"Then it was a boy she was in love with or something. It's not hard, Karg. "

"I don't know." Karg mumbled, setting the fire poker down on the table. Cups and linens sat unused on the table. A slightly rusted cook pot sat on the oven, still filled with water. He touched one of the wooden cups. "There's no way to know what happened for sure. It doesn't seem like a mercy kill."

Gren grunted. "We'll just have to find the daughter then, won't we?"

"I…I guess we will."


	5. The Merchant

Jenxa had heard of Orgrimmar. Several times a year, Vol'jin called Master Gadrin to attend meetings in the great city. Every time, Master Gadrin would return with a new tale. He'd regale the eager children of Sen'jin with a colorful yarn about the orc fortress and those who lived there. All the species of the Horde gathered beneath Orgrimmar's banners. He'd amuse the young ones with tales of the rotten undead and the stout Tauren. You could smell undead a mile off, he said. They ripened in the desert heat. Jenxa laughed at the stories with the troll children. In her mind, Orgrimmar was some distant dream city, a place she could imagine but never visit. Not while her mama was alive, anyway. Tauren and undead had no reason to visit the isolated village of Sen'jin. Jenxa could hardly picture what they looked like.

She saw her first Forsaken just a mile outside Orgrimmar. The city's huge gates loomed darkly against the red mountains. The undead man sat on a large boulder, gnawing absently on a severed pig haunch. He stunk of graveyard dirt and rot. It was true what Gadrin said – Jenxa smelled him before she saw him. But when she did see him, she nearly screamed in fright.

The inside of Orgrimmar was even worse, though. A thousand sensations struck Jenxa as soon as she passed through the gates. First was the smell. Work animals, kodos and worgs, crowded together with hundreds of passersby. The crowd swept Jenxa up and pushed her along, whisking her in fifty different directions at once. Twice, a kodo nearly stomped on her. Jenxa had never seen such big animals. The trolls of her village rode agile, domesticated raptors. The orcs rode worgs. How the Tauren could tame such huge animals, Jenxa could never guess. Shops lined the streets. Goblin merchants hocked their wares from colorful kiosks. A few of them shouted at her, but Jenxa was too scared to stop and look at anything. All the sounds of the city melded together, forming a huge, unintelligible roar from which Jenxa could not escape. She covered her ears, but she couldn't block the noise out.

Finally, the crowd released her. Jenxa found herself standing in a small alleyway next to a ramshackle kiosk. A red headed troll sat behind the kiosk, perched on a rickety wooden stool. He regarded Jenxa coolly. With a sweep of his arm, he gestured to the wares arranged before him. Jenxa paused, removing her hands from her ears. She followed the movement of his arm, her eyes dropping down to his wares. Strewn all across the wood counter were pieces of jewelry – gold cuffs studded with gems, dangly earrings, and shimmery necklaces. Noticing her gaze, the redheaded troll cracked a smile. "See anytin' ya like, mon?" He asked in a low, smooth voice.

Jenxa opened her mouth to tell him she had no money when a necklace caught her eye. The pearls lay draped over a smooth river stone. Each pearl winked like a tiny moon. Smiling toothily, the troll merchant lifted the pearl necklace up to give her a better look. He hopped off his stool, pushing it toward her. Jenxa shrank back. "Pretty, yah? Only ten gold."

Jenxa blushed, frowning down at her feet. "Dun got gold." She replied. "S-sorry."

The troll merchant's face fell. He laid the pearls back down. "Shame." He sighed, settling back onto his stool. Jenxa hovered uncertainly by the stall, glancing back over her shoulder into the crowd. The people flowed together like an underwater current. Here, at least, she was out of the glut. The troll merchant didn't even look at her, instead staring blindly into the moving crowd. Jenxa glanced fearfully up at him, then back at the crowd.

"Um…" She began quietly. The troll merchant looked back down at her.

"Yah, mon?"

"Erm…do…do yah know…where da priest trainer am?" Jenxa asked timidly.

The redheaded merchant sighed deeply. "Yer orcish be terrible, mon." He replied, running a hand through his crimson hair. He wore it in the messy braid, his shaggy bangs hanging down in front of his eyes. "Ya ain't from around here, huh?"

Jenxa shook her head. "No."

"Dey still speak Zandali down in the villages, eh? Yah tink dey'd know bettah by now." The troll merchant was silent for a few moments. He scratched his nose thoughtfully, gazing into the cloud of people surging by. Looking at Jenxa, he hopped off his stool and offered it to her. Jenxa glanced down at the stool and then back at him, perplexed. "Well? Dun make me say it, girl." Jenxa sat dutifully on the stool. "Dis be da busiest part of de day, mon. Best wait until de crowd passes 'fore ya try gettin' anywhere."

Jenxa wrung her hands nervously. "It…it be me first time in Orgrimmah." She mumbled. "Sorry…"

"Eh." The merchant picked up the pearl necklace again, along with a glittering gold cuff. "It be fine, mon. Maybe if people see a girl wearin' me jewels, they'll come buy." He lifted Jenxa's wrist and slipped on the cuff before she could protest. He pulled her head down and tied the pearl necklace around her neck. The pearls rested against her collarbone, heavy and luminous. Jenxa frowned, scratching at the gold cuff. It was uncomfortably tight around her wrist. Scowling, the merchant slapped at her hands. "Sit up straight. Hold yer arm up so's people can see the cuff." Jenxa obeyed, lifting her wrist and letting the light sparkle on the cuff. The troll merchant cracked a smile. "Dat's good, dat's good. Now smile a lil'. Nobody wants a sullen model, mon." Obligingly, Jenxa grinned. Nodding, the merchant snapped a few more pieces of jewelry up. He dropped a pair of sparkly earrings in her palm and proffered her an elegant gold circlet. Finally, once Jenxa was all aglow with gems and gold, he took a step back and examined her. "If dis dun get people ta buy, I dunno what will, mon."

Jenxa sat uncomfortably on the stool, frozen in place and decked in more gems than she could possibly imagine. As soon as he was finished, the troll merchant went back to staring into the crowd. A few passersby paused to glance at Jenxa, looking her up and down appreciatively. The troll girl blushed deeply, her smile faltering for a moment. The moment her grin dropped, however, the merchant slapped her on her leg. Jenxa quickly remembered to smile. Finally, after sitting there painfully posed for several minutes, she glanced back down at the merchant. "Erm…sah?" She began.

"Hush." He told her harshly. "Jus' sit dere fer a bit. When I close up shop in de evenin', I'll help ya look fer de priest trainer."

"Really?"

"Yah, mon. Jus' be still. People are lookin'." The merchant whispered. He was right. A few more people were pausing. An orc woman eyed the heavy cuff on Jenxa's wrist. An undead peered at the earrings. Jenxa tried to keep still, holding herself just so the jewelry would sparkle. Finally, a few came forward, requesting to look at certain pieces. The troll merchant beamed. Soon, both the cuff and the earrings were sold. A few hours passed and most of the jewels he'd had Jenxa model were gone. Only the pearl necklace remained. Grinning toothily, the troll merchant helped her off the stool. He gave her a friendly slap on the back. Gold coins jingled in his pocket. Jenxa hesitantly smiled back. "Who'da thought, mon! All I needed was a girl ta pose fer me." Jenxa untied the pearl necklace and tried to hand it back to him. He shook his head, pushing it back into her hands. "Keep it, mon. That's fer workin' fer me all day."

Jenxa looked down at the pearls in her hand. Overhead, the sky was beginning to turn orange. The waning daylight dyed the pearls a radiant amber. She clutched them to her chest, beaming up at the redheaded merchant. "Thank ya, sah." She breathed.

The troll merchant nodded. "Ey…" He began, reaching out and touching her shoulder. "Come an' sit fer me tomorrow. I'll give ya a jewel for every day ya work."

"Oh, oh, no, sah. I gotta find de priest trainer, really!" Jenxa replied quickly.

The merchant's hand fell from her shoulder. "Why, mon?" He asked. Jenxa froze in place, clutching the pearls. They were hot in her hands, warmed by her body heat.

Jenxa blinked once, twice, then looked down at her feet. "I…dunno." Master Gadrin said that if she trained as a priest, her duties would take her far away and she wouldn't have to worry about anyone bringing her in for murder. Still, here, in Orgrimmar, it seemed absurd to think that anyone would recognize her. People from all around Azeroth swarmed in the orc fortress. The population had to be in the thousands – no, millions! The odds of encountering someone from the village seemed extremely low. Still, Master Gadrin said to find the priest trainer. When the head witch doctor of your village said to do something, you did it. Witchdoctors whispered intimately with the loa. Master Gadrin was an accomplished witchdoctor. If anyone knew what was best, it was him. "I'm sorry…me reasons are me own. Thank ya fer yer kindness, sah."

The troll merchant frowned deeply. He took her hand and pressed the pearls hard against her palm. "If dis priest ting dun work out, come back an' talk to me. I'll give ya a job. Ya helped me sell a lot o' gems today, girl." He replied. "Me name is Zaljaf. I live in de Drag, in a little hut on de second floor. Dere's a sign on me door. Zaljaf, purveyor of rare gems an' fine jewelry. Come find me."

Jenxa nodded to the merchant. "Awright." She said.

The merchant nodded back. The streets were starting to clear as the sun went down. He gestured to a wide side street leading up to the upper levels of Orgrimmar. "If ya want ta find de priest trainer, jus' follow dat road dere. It'll take ya up ta de Valley of Spirits. Ya can't miss it. All dem magic types hang out around dere."

Jenxa inclined her head toward him. "Thank ya, Mistah Zaljaf. Ya very kind."

"Eh. I do what I can ta make a sale." The merchant rolled his shoulders. For a merchant, he was oddly muscular. His pectorals strained against the thin fabric of his shirt. Stubble prickled on his jaw. A small, pink scar cut across the bridge of his nose. "What's yer name, girl?"

"Jenxa."

"Well…Jenxa…take care o' yerself. An' dun forget me offer."Zaljaf the merchant replied. Jenxa smiled up at him. She gave a little bow before tying the pearls around her neck and hurrying off. The pearls bounced against her collar bone as she ran.


	6. The Priest

Brilliant smallfish flocked around Ur'kyo's feet as he stood in the spirit pool. Flickering like stray sunbeams, the fish brushed teasingly by his ankles but vanished as soon as he bent to scoop them up. Smiling, Ur'kyo retrieved his bait pouch and rod from the edge of the pool. Pulling back his arm, he cast his line. The hook dropped soundlessly into the still pool, sending out waves of ripples. Almost immediately, he felt a tug. Just as he began reeling in the line, a small voice called out to him. "Erm, 'ello?" Ur'kyo glanced over his shoulder. A troll girl, probably not older than eighteen or nineteen, stood at the edge of the pool. She gazed at him from beneath a yellow fringe of hair. Ur'kyo turned back to his rod. With a small grunt, he brought the fish in. A fat mud snapper, red in color, dangled on the end of his line. He unhooked the mud snapper and, kneeling, let it slide back into the pool. Turning, he faced the troll girl.

"Yah, mon?" He asked, opening his bait pouch and tying another worm on the end of his lure. He watched the troll girl out of the corner of his eye. Around her neck, she wore a string of the fattest white pearls Ur'kyo had ever seen. She fiddled nervously with the necklace. Her fingernails were short and rough, the result of years of biting. Aside from the pearls, nothing else marked her out as a rich girl. She wore a plain brown dress that went all the way down to her ankles, covering up any figure she might have. Her blonde hair she wore knotted up in a ratty ponytail.

The troll girl bit down on her bottom lip. Ur'kyo couldn't get a good look at her face – she kept staring down at the mud. "Are…are ya da priest trainer?" She asked almost too quietly for Ur'kyo to hear. He waded closer to the edge of the pool. As he approached, the troll girl stepped back. "Are ya da priest trainer?" She repeated a little louder. Ur'kyo paused, one foot in the water and one in the mud.

"Yah. Name's Ur'kyo." Ur'kyo responded, giving a little bow to the girl. Finally, she looked up. Her face was round and girlish with short tusks that pointed out in opposite directions. She was coated with a thin film of dust – normal for those who lived in the desert. "Whatcha wan'?"

The girl fidgeted, shifting back and forth on her feet and tugging on her pearls. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it. At last, she managed to get the words out. "I wanna be a priest too." She said.

"That so?" Ur'kyo stepped firmly up on land next to the troll girl.

The troll girl clenched her hands and looked him in the face. A dark violet flush was spreading across the bridge of her nose. "Y-yah. I came all de way from Sen'jin for dis." She muttered. "I wanna be a priest."

Ur'kyo shook his head. "Dere's more to it dan dat, girl." He replied. The troll girl frowned. "Ya can't jus' walk up an' ask ta be me student like dat. Priesthood's a life time pursuit. How can I know yer serious?"

"Dis all I got left! I'm…I'm really serious!" The troll girl insisted with sudden vigor. Her yellow eyes burned with animal desperation.

Her sudden outburst caught Ur'kyo off guard. He dropped a hand on her shoulder. She reminded him of a fish, flapping her mouth and dangling helplessly on the end of a line. "Ey, ey, calm yerself. I didn't say ya couldn't join the priesthood." The troll girl wriggled out of his grip and darted back a few steps. "Jus'…I get a lotta young'uns coming here ta learn the craft o' healin'. Dey dun quite unnerstand de…commitment necessary."

The troll girl's face was as purple as a grape. "I unnerstand! I'm serious!" She clasped her hands as if in prayer, gazing at him with those needy, animal eyes. "Really, really serious!"

Ur'kyo grimaced. "Well, it's good fer ya ta say dat, bu'…how much do ya know about de priesthood anyway?"

The girl's face sagged. She stood silent for several minutes, hands still clasped. Her eyes dropped back down to the earth. Her lips worked furiously, searching for something to say. "I…I dunno nothin'." She concluded quietly. "I'm sorry."

"Hrm. I see." Ur'kyo answered. "Ya really wanna be a priest, though?"

The girl nodded furiously. "Yah!"

"Why?"

Once again, the girl deflated like a balloon, her enthusiasm gone. A few moments passed before she spoke again. "I wanna…help…" She answered weakly, taking long pauses between her words, "In…in da war. By…by healin'."

"Dat true?" Ur'kyo raised an eyebrow.

"Yah!" The girl replied with renewed vigor, looking up at him hopefully.

Ur'kyo sighed. By all accounts, she seemed like a perfectly normal troll girl. Still, there was something about her that didn't sit right with him. Her presence agitated the spirits. He could feel angry ghosts swarming around her. "Listen, young'un…" Ur'kyo began, "Healin' be a noble callin' an' de spirits are pleased dat ya wish ta devote yer life to it…but…" Ur'kyo paused, scratching his head.

"But…?" The troll girl echoed.

"But…dere be a black spot on yer soul dat even I can't cleanse." Ur'kyo gestured to the air around him. The troll girl's eyes followed his hand. "De spirits feel it too. Dey dun like yer presence." The girl looked around, as if trying to see the spirits. Of course she wouldn't feel anything. Only those attuned to their presence would sense them. Ur'kyo shook his head, placing a heavy hand on her shoulder. "I am sorry, girl. I cannot teach ya."

A dark cloud settled on the girl's forehead. She lowered her eyes. Ur'kyo sighed again and turned to leave, but she caught hold of his forearm. "Mastah Gadrin sent me." She whispered in a low, anxious voice. Her fingers dug into the meat of his forearm. "He said ya would teach me."

"Leggo o' me, girl." Ur'kyo growled, trying to pull his arm out of her grip, but to no avail. Her hand was like a vise.

"No!" She squealed. "Teach me! Please!"

"LET GO!" With a forceful tug, Ur'kyo managed to free his arm. The troll girl looked down at her hand, then at the purple and black blotches she'd left on Ur'kyo's arm. With a shrill whimper, she turned and ran.

Ur'kyo stared after her. He ran a finger over his arm. Already, dark purple bruises were forming. Three of them, all right where her fingers touched his skin.

* * *

><p>The night sky seemed to Karg like a deep blue void, flecking with endless clusters of stars. He lounged idly on the steps of Master Gadrin's hut, staring up at the heavens. Here, away from the bright torches of Orgrimmar, he could see a thousand more stars. He lifted a finger, trying to trace the shape of the Bear constellation, but the iconic stars were no longer easy to pick out. Finally, with a sigh, he gave up.<p>

"Greetin's, Karg." Master Gadrin appeared from the alleyway between two huts, followed by a much younger troll that Karg didn't recognize. With a grunt, Karg stood and saluted the two trolls. Gadrin smiled approvingly. "Dis me bruddah, Minshina. I toldja 'bout him earliah." The witchdoctor gestured to the younger troll, who bowed respectfully to Karg. Although Minshina was the younger brother, he was still definitely a man. His tusks were short and thick, curved slightly inward like the canines of a wolf. With his broad shoulders and thick arm muscles, Minshina might have been intimidating were it not for his pleasant smile.

Karg grinned at the witchdoctor's brother. "Now, _you_ look like a warrior."

Minshina shook his head. His long red hair fell haphazardly in his face. "No, mon. I be trainin' to become a witchdoctor like me bruddah. But thank ya." He smiled widely. "I know dat's high praise comin' from an orc."

Gadrin beamed at his younger brother. He turned back to Karg. "Where's yer friend?"

"Went to get drinks from Razor Hill." Karg replied. "He's not fond of troll brews."

"Ah." Gadrin nodded knowingly. "Did ya discover anytin' today? About dah murdah?"

At the mention of the murder, Minshina tensed. The younger troll ran a hand through his wild hair, staring angrily down at the desert dust. Karg frowned, trying to find the right words. "Well…" He began. Minshina looked at him sharply, ears quivering. "Well…Gren thought that perhaps it was a mercy kill. That Miss Jenxa – that was her name, right? – got sick of seeing her mother suffer and murdered her."

Minshina lunged forward suddenly. "Jenxa would never do dat!" He spat.

Gadrin slapped his brother on the back of the head. "Hush!" Gadrin growled. "Let de orc speak." Minshina tenderly rubbed his head, glaring at Gadrin out of the corner of his eye.

Karg cleared his throat. "It doesn't seem like a mercy kill to me. Too violent. I saw the hole the poker made in the stone table." The orc guard continued. He could just picture the weak old troll woman impaled on the poker, flopping helplessly like a fish as a blood spilled out of her. The image turned his stomach. "Whoever killed the woman – Antu – must have been very, very strong. And must have hated her a great deal."

Gadrin stroked his chin. "I see. It be clever of ya to figger dat out, mon. I saw de body myself. A young girl could not do dat." He shook his head sadly. "Jenxa too…she loved her muddah very much. She wouldn't kill her, not fer anytin'."

"Gren and I agreed that we ought to look for this Jenxa."

Gadrin's eyes widened behind his voodoo mask. Slowly, he reached up and untied the mask. "Dat be no easy task, mon." He sighed. "We been searchin' for her already."

"And nothing's turned up?"

"Not a ting." With a gentle push, Gadrin nudged his younger brother forward. "But…Minshina here was quite fond o' Jenxa. Perhaps he can tell ya sometin' dat'll help." Minshina stepped up. His friendly smile was gone, replaced by a sullen scowl that made him seem a hundred times more threatening. He hadn't smiled since the subject of the murder came up. Gadrin sidled past the two of them and ascended the steps into his hut. Karg sat back down on the stair. He patted the space beside him. Minshina, still grimacing, sat down. From the looks of him, Minshina wasn't much younger than Karg was. Silently, Karg unhooked his hip flask and offered it to the troll.

"Tanks, mon." Minshina muttered. He took a swig from the flask. Wiping his mouth, he handed it back to Karg. "Dis ain't been an easy time."

"Gadrin tells me you had a little crush on this Jenxa girl." Karg answered, taking a quick sip from the flask before setting it aside. "Do you know where she went?"

"Nah, mon. If I did, why would I be wastin' me time here?" Minshina smoothed back his wild red hair. "She ain't de killah, mon. Ya know dat, right?"

"I didn't think she was." Karg replied. "Still, I'd like a little information about her. To help us track her down."

Minshina groaned, resting his head in his hands. "I dunno, mon. She was…quiet? Ya know, quiet an' gentle an'…an' always dere in dat hut wif her mum. She never left her mum's side, 'cept to get potions from me bruddah. She didn't talk much, but dat kinda made her more interestin'."

"Were you friends?"

"Nah, mon. Jenxa didn't really have friends. I tink me an' me bruddah were de only ones she spoke to. An' dat was only ta get potions she needed fer her mum. But…" He grinned toothily. "She was real pretty, ya know? Ta me, anyway. Slim figure, tall, wit dese big yellow eyes. A real fine lady."

Karg chuckled. "I wouldn't know." He passed the hip flask back to Minshina, who took another swig.

"I was waitin' fer her mum to die 'fore I started courtin' her. Dat's de respectful fing to do, anyway." Minshina sighed, rolling his shoulders. He screwed the top back on the flask. "But she up an' vanished 'fore I got da chance. I guess she ran away."

"You think so?"

"Village life ain't fer everyone. Some trolls get antsy, wanna see de big world. Ya know how it goes." Minshina handed the flask back to Karg. "Dat's really all I can say, mon. Jenxa didn't tell me where she was goin'. Dun tink she told anyone."

"I guess you'd be pretty grateful if I got her back for you."

Minshina shifted to face Karg. "Of course, mon. I'd be happy jus' ta know she's alive somewhere. We wasn't friends or nuffin', but…I kinda liked her all da same." He glanced down at his hands, a purplish blush staining his cheeks. "Jenxa…she ain't a warriah or a shaman. She's jus' a girl. If...if she took off runnin' in the desert by herself, she could get hurt."

Slowly, Karg stood up. He extended a hand to Minshina. "I'll find your girl for you." He said. Minshina's face broke into a sincere smile. He took the orc's hand and, with a heave, pulled himself up off the step. "I swear."


	7. The Model

Zaljaf's larder was a maze of empty tins and cobwebs. Glass jars sat hollow on the shelves, stained with the crusty remains of some stew he'd already eaten. A spider wove its web between two empty cans on the highest shelf. Stomach growling, the jeweler rummaged through the pantry. He grabbed for containers, shaking them and listening for the telltale rattle of food. Nothing. Even his jerky tins were empty. Pushing unfilled cans out of the way, his eyes locked on coffee canister toward the back of the shelf. With a swipe of his arm, he grabbed it and pulled back the lid. A sickly sweet smell wafted up from the can. The coffee grounds had to be a month old at least, but they were better than nothing.

Setting the coffee canister on the table, Zaljaf lit a fire in his stove. A cool night breeze blew in through the open door, causing the small flame to sputter and cough. Zaljaf sighed. He tended to leave his door open, even at night, in the vain hope that a customer would show up. The sign was right there on his door – 'fine gems and quality jewelry'. Slipping his flint and tinder in his pocket, Zaljaf pulled the door closed. The flame went out anyway.

Once he got the fire started again, he set his coffee pot on the oven to heat. Gold coins jingled merrily in his pocket. Fishing the coins out, Zaljaf spread them on the table and counted them. Fifty…sixty…one hundred gold coins. He smiled. Not a bad profit. Normally, he was lucky to make half that. Having that girl model his jewelry really made a difference. Tomorrow when the Orgrimmar market opened up, he'd have to buy himself some fine meat to celebrate his discovery. A model brought in customers. Of course! It made so much sense. A piece of jewelry was beautiful just lying on the counter, but it was even lovelier when worn. Yes, tomorrow he'd have to start looking for a full time model – someone pretty, but not pretty enough to outshine his gems. There was no guarantee that today's model would return.

His thoughts were interrupted by a sudden knock on the door. Frowning, Zaljaf looked over his shoulder. "Door's unlocked, mon!" He called. The door creaked open and there stood the very troll girl he'd been thinking of – his model. His pearls hung luminously around her neck. Zaljaf beamed when he saw her. "Oh, yer here!"

She hovered in the door, standing on the threshold and clutching the handle uncertainly. Zaljaf hobbled over, ushering her inside and closing the door behind her. The fire in the oven spluttered again. The troll girl bowed her head. "Sorry fer droppin' in." She muttered.

"Nonsense, girl. I invited ya." Zaljaf pulled out a chair for her. The girl stared at the chair as though she'd never seen one before. Impatiently, he gestured for her to sit. She did. "So! Dis mean yer acceptin' me offer?"

The girl peered at the mass of gold coins on the table, then looked up at Zaljaf. She fingered her pearl necklace nervously, frowning. "I…" She began, biting down on her bottom lip, "I…I dunno what ta do, Mistah Zaljaf."

He blinked at her. "Whatcha mean, mon?"

"De priest trainer sent me away." She murmured. "I dun have any gold. I dun got nowhere ta sleep." She shrank into herself, face down. Her long yellow hair fell over her face.

Zaljaf frowned. He hadn't expected this. "What's goin' on, mon? Whatcha mean ya dun got a place to sleep? Where's yer home?"

"I dun got one, mon…I-I runned away." The troll girl whimpered, digging her fingers into her forehead. Zaljaf stared at her.

"Yer a runaway?" He repeated. Head still down, she nodded. "Wha…Where's yer family?"

"I dun got one." The girl replied, shaking her head slowly. She refused to look at him. "I dun got nuffin'. Dey said to go ta Orgrimmah, but even de priest trainer wouldn't have me."

"Wait, wait…Hold on dere, girl." Zaljaf held up his hands. The girl slowly turned to look at him. She was dirtier than he remembered her. Her eyes were red and puffy. "Yer an orphan AN' a runaway? How old are ya? Ya gotta have some family somewhere…" His coffee pot began to steam. Zaljaf turned away from the girl and went to pull his pot off the stove. He pulled two empty cups from the larder and filled them with coffee. One cup he plunked down in front of the girl. Gingerly, she lifted the cup to her mouth and sipped. She grimaced. Zaljaf smiled hesitantly. "It's bitter, mon. I know. I'm outta sugar, so it'll have ta do." He sat down across from the girl.

"I dunno de word in orcish." She said quietly. "Mastah Gadrin didn't teach me de high numbahs."

"Den say it in Zandali."

The girl cleared her throat. "_I'm eighteen years old_."

"Yer younger than ya look." Zaljaf replied. "Dun mind me speakin' in orcish. Me Zandali's a lil' rusty."

"_It's fine_." She answered. She spoke in a rough, country dialect, but the lilting, deep, musical quality of the troll language still came through. The sound was pleasant. Zaljaf hadn't heard proper Zandali spoken a long while. "_My mama is dead. I came to Orgrimmar because there was nowhere else to go. And then the priest trainer rejected me._"

Zaljaf sipped his coffee. "Sad." He replied. "So yer ma's dead. Where's yer papa? Ya dun got a daddy, girl?"

The girl shook her head. "_No_."

"Hrmph. He dead too?"

"_I never met him._" She answered. "_Mama always told me he was dead._"

"Ya really are an orphan, then." Zaljaf shook his head. "Shame."

"_I don't know what to do_."

Zaljaf looked up from his cup. Across the table, the troll girl was gazing at him pleadingly. Her eyes were big as saucers. She didn't look like much of a model with her plain dress and uncombed hair, but perhaps with the right clothes he'd be able to use her again. Just by wearing his gems, she'd brought in a good profit. If he cleaned her up and fixed her hair, maybe she'd bring in even more money. "I'll tell ya what ya can do, girl." He grinned. "Ya stand by me kiosk tomorrow an' model me jewelry, jus' like ya did today. I'll pay ya part o' what I make. How's dat? Not a bad job! All we need ta do is clean ya up, maybe dress ya in sometin' a lil' prettiah. Easy."

"_I don't have any pretty dresses_."

Zaljaf chuckled. He rose creakily from his chair and limped to the battered old trunk sitting in the corner. "Yer a lucky girl." He said, kneeling down and lifting the lid, "I still got some o' me mate's ol' dresses." Sifting through the rumpled piles of clothes, he pulled out a long, colorfully patterned skirt. He tossed it at the girl, who caught it deftly. "Wear dat…an', er, dis." He yanked a light tunic from the trunk and threw it to her. The troll girl caught it and folded the clothes neatly in her lap.

"Tanks." She mumbled in orcish, smoothing the wrinkles out of the tunic with her hands. She glanced curiously at the trunk. "Where's yer mate?"

"Oh…er…she ain't here anymore." Zaljaf turned faintly purple, rubbing the back of his neck. "Not dat she's dead or anytin'…well, at least I dun fink she is. Been 'bout twenty years since I last saw 'er."

"Oh."

"Eh, good riddance, mon. We neva got on dat well. Bu'…she's 'bout de same size as ya, so de clothes should fit awright." Zaljaf turned, smiling a little. "Glad ta have ya on board, miss."

"Jenxa."

"Right. Dat was it. Jenxa." Zaljaf nodded. "Cute name."

Jenxa blushed, staring down at the clothes in her lap. "Tanks."

Zaljaf stood and hobbled back to the table. His leg muscles ached painfully. Standing for hours behind a kiosk wasn't easy on his joints. The healers would probably scold him, but it was worth it. He scooped a handful of gold coins up off the table and proffered them to Jenxa. "This is fer an inn. Get up bright an' early tomorrow an' meet me at the kiosk. Ya know where it is, right? An' comb yer damn hair, mon. Looks like a rat's nest."

Jenxa's blush deepened. "Awright." She replied, taking the coins. Rising from her chair, she half-bowed to him. "See ya tomorrow, den."

* * *

><p>Jenxa did as she was told. She combed her hair out and wore the clothes he gave her. She showed up at the kiosk just as the sun began to rise. Pale pink light washed over Orgrimmar. Somewhere, a rooster crowed to welcome the morning. Zaljaf appeared soon after, carrying his jewelry in a sack on his back. He walked with a pronounced limp favoring his right leg. Jenxa had only just noticed last night. Although his trousers hid it well, his right leg was thin and desiccated compared to the left. Not wasting much time on words, he emptied the sack on kiosk counter. Gold and gems spilled out on the wood, all in a bright, winking tangle. Silently, he began to sort them. He selected a few shimmery gold bangles, a pair of earrings, a necklace, and a plain gold circlet. Dutifully, Jenxa took the pieces and slipped them on. "Yer gonna hafta stand today, mon. Dat awright?" He said finally once Jenxa was fully decked in gold.<p>

"Because of yer leg?" She asked. Zaljaf grimaced. "Oh…sorry."

"Best not ta mention de leg." He answered, dropping down on his rickety stool. "Bu'…yah. Standin' too long hurts." Jenxa nodded. She wanted to ask what had ruined his right leg so badly, but she held her tongue. She posed, letting the morning light sparkle on her bangles. She peered at Zaljaf out of the corner of her eye. He was odd looking for a merchant. He had to be at least twenty years older than her, but there was a certain youthful cast to his face. His chest and arms rippled with hard, small muscles that stood out under his shirt. Even his left leg looked strong – it was just the right one that was wasted and decayed. He didn't look like a merchant. He looked like a warrior. One didn't get muscles like that designing jewelry. He caught her looking at him and cracked a smile. "Lift de right arm a lil'. Let the customers see de goods." Jenxa lifted her arm.

The daylight grew strong and soon, the customers were out in force. Before the morning was over, Zaljaf had sold three of the bangles Jenxa wore on her wrist. Around noon, he let her have a break. Dropping a few gold coins in her hand, he sent her to get lunch for the both of them. She picked up some cheese, bread, and ale from the nearby inn. The two of them ate at the kiosk. Jenxa's stomach hurt with hunger. It had been a full two days since she'd last eaten. When Master Gadrin told her to leave, she left. She didn't take any money or clothing. All her possessions were back in the hut at Sen'jin, if someone hadn't already looted them.

"So…" Zaljaf said suddenly as they ate, "Yer from Sen'jin, right?"

Jenxa nodded. "Yah."

"Nice place. A lil' too quiet for me."

"Yah."

"When'd yer mum die?"

"Couple o' days ago."

Zaljaf bit off a chunk of bread. "Oh…Sorry. Ya prob'ly dun feel like talkin' 'bout it, den."

Jenxa shook her head. "Nah. Not really."

"Dat's fine. Hurts when sometin' like dat happens."

They sat in silence for a few minutes. Finally, Jenxa looked up at him. "What happened ta yer leg?" She asked. Zaljaf heaved an annoyed sigh.

"Folks always gotta ask 'bout de leg." He groaned, wolfing down the rest of his lunch. "'I was out in de Barrens some years ago. Slipped on some loose dirt an' broke me leg. It was weeks 'fore I got back to town an' found a healer. But by dat time, the bone healed wrong. Now I have a limp. Dat's de story, mon." His words were clipped and hard. Jenxa frowned into her bread, eyes downcast.

"Oh." Jenxa mumbled in her food. "It looks like it hurts."

"Let's drop it fer now, mon." He sighed. He gestured to her bread. "Hurry up an' eat. We got customers."

Jenxa obliged. She ate quickly and got back on her feet, posing for the crowd that moved by. After a few minutes of posing, she looked back at Zaljaf. "Is dat why ya became a jeweler?"

The older troll scowled. "Yer fulla questions, aren't ya? An' here I thought ya was a nice, quiet girl. I asked ya ta drop it."

Jenxa blushed. "S-sorry."

Zaljaf pinched the bridged of his nose, closing his eyes in exasperation. "Dey won't let ya fight in de army wif a gimp leg." He grumbled, not looking at her. "Since yer so keen on knowin' my private business."

Jenxa frowned down at her feet. "I didn't mean ta pry."

"Well, ya did. Now hush. People are lookin'."

Jenxa hushed. She kept still, holding her pose like a mannequin. She was good at keeping still, if nothing else. Every now and then, Zaljaf would glance over at her. He no longer smiled. His deadpan expression was like a knife against her skin. Her face burned with shame. Only after he sold the earrings and the circlet Jenxa wore did he start to smile again.


	8. The Dinner

A week passed.

Karg sat atop his worg, sweating in the mid day sun. Fruitlessly, he scanned the desert. Durotar looked the same as it always had – barren, red, and rocky. A hot wind blew down from the north, pushing scorching air against Karg's skin. Giving his worg a gentle kick, Karg rode back down to the road. Gren, also mounted, waited for him there. "Did you see anythin'?" Gren grunted in his usual uninterested way. Karg took off his helmet, wiping the sweat off his brow.

"Just lots of sand and rocks." Karg sighed, holding the helmet under his arm. His hair stuck flat against his neck with sweat.

"We're never going to find this girl." Gren grunted, "I hope you know that."

"We haven't had any luck so far…" Karg protested weakly, "but that doesn't mean she's not out here somewhere."

Gren rolled his eyes. "Karg…will you stop and think for a moment? Durotar is massive. It's been a week since we started this ridiculous search. That girl, wherever the hell she is now, is long gone. For all we know, she's on the other side of the world. And that's if she _didn't_ get eaten by raptors."

Karg frowned down at his hands. He couldn't forget what Minshina said. Jenxa wasn't a warrior. She had no survival training and no idea how to use a weapon. Gren was right. The odds of a troll girl living this long in the desert with no skills were slim. Every day, the Orgrimmar guard patrols came across the bones of some poor sucker who'd gotten lost in the desert. Between them, the harpies and the raptors took two or three score lives every year. There were always tales of organized harpy attacks on farms or children stolen by raptors. Even if Jenxa managed to escape the desert killers, tens of hundreds of hidey holes pockmarked the countryside. Finding her, even her bones, was a nearly insurmountable task. Karg realized this days ago. Still, he'd been afraid to say. Captain Gorrum would dock their salary if they simply gave up looking.

"Gorrum'll scold us if we just give up." Karg replied, giving voice to his thoughts. Gren covered his face with his palm.

"We've been combing the desert for a full seven days now. Gorrum knows Durotar as well as we do. He knows we're not gonna find her." Gren insisted. Beads of sweat dripped off his square chin. "He even said _himself_ that he didn't expect anything from this case. So a lady is dead. Ya bury here and move on."

Karg shook his head. "That just sounds…cruel. It's our job to protect people for murderers and thieves. Finding Jenxa brings us closer to finding the killer."

Gren groaned. "What's cruel is that we're out here in this god-awful heat when we could be in Orgimmar having a drink." Kicking his worg, Gren trotted a ways down the road. Karg followed him. Gren's wolf kicked up dust clouds in its wake, making Karg's eyes water. "Gadrin said the old lady was getting ready to die anyway."

"You're a cruel orc, Gren."

"I don't know about cruelty. All I know is that a woman who can't fight and can't breed is useless." He motioned for Karg to follow him. "I'm sick of standing out here in the wastes. Let's just get back to Captain Gorrum with what we've found."

Karg tapped his worg lightly with his heel. The great furry animal radiated heat as it ran. Worgs weren't made for the desert heat, what with their thick, fluffy coats. Just going on patrol with them was a pain. While they were fast creatures, they couldn't sweat like horses and were apt to keel over if pushed too hard . Gren and Karg rode at a steady pace, pausing every so often to let their worgs cool off and have a drink. The walk from Sen'jin to Orgrimmar was two days on foot (provided one stopped for sleep), but it was only a matter of hours on a mount. They stopped in Razor Hill to let the worgs rest. As soon as night fell and the land cooled off, they made the final push to Orgrimmar. By the time they reached the gates, the moon was high in the sky and the street lights were beginning to go out. In the Valley of Strength, only a few merchants lingered over their kiosks. Most of them were collecting their wares and preparing to go home.

That was when Karg caught sight of her. She was hovering near a rickety kiosk set up in the alleyway between the inn and the weapons shop. He barely recognized her at first. Her yellow hair was done up in an elaborate twist, strings of pearls draped artfully over her braids. Rings glittered on her fingers and a silver choker wound around her neck. As he watched, she struggled to pull the rings off her fingers. As she got each one off, she dropped it on the kiosk countertop. "Gren, wait." Karg said to his companion, hopping off his worg and making a beeline for the bejeweled troll. "You!" The troll girl looked up suddenly. "Yeah, you!" The girl whirled about to face him, blushing a deep purple and hiding her ringed hands behind her back. Karg jogged up to the girl, giving her a friendly smile. "We met the other day. In Razor Hill?"

The girl frowned at Karg for a moment. Then a look of recognition lit up in her eyes. "Oh! Yah! I remembah ya." She replied, smiling shyly. "De nice orc dat offah'd me a ride."

Karg removed his helmet and bowed to the lady. "I'm glad to see you made it to Orgrimmar on your own. I was a little worried." He laughed gently. The girl smiled. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but you're from Sen'jin, aren't you?"

The girl's smile dropped off her face. "Erm…yah, mon." She replied, nervously twisting the rings on her fingers.

Karg's grin didn't falter. He gestured toward Gren. "My friend and I just came from there. It's really horrible. A troll woman was murdered. We spoke to everyone in Sen'jin, but we couldn't find anything out."

"Oh. Dat's a shame." The girl murmured, blushing deeply and refusing to make eye contact. She gazed down at her rings. A frown tugged at the corner of her mouth. "I'm sorry 'bout dat."

"No need to apologize, ma'am. I was, er, just wondering…" Karg began, "Do you know anything about the murder?"

The girl looked up at him suddenly, her smile a bit too large. "Nah, no way, mon! I ain't heard nuffin' 'bout no murdah! Not a fing!" She insisted with forced cheerfulness. Karg raised an eyebrow.

"Well, ah…" He began, rubbing the back of his neck, "Keep your ears open and report if you hear anything. By the way, were you at all familiar with a troll woman known as 'Antu'?"

The girl shook her head vigorously, nearly spilling the net of pearls arranged on her hair. "Nope! Nevah heard o' her, mon!" She replied brightly, still beaming.

Karg opened his mouth to ask another question, but the sound of rapid footsteps cut off his inquiry. A middle aged troll man with red hair stomped up behind him, pushing him bodily out of the way. "Leave me model alone, she's workin'." The older troll growled. Taking a step back, Karg bowed to the newcomer. Limping over to the girl, the older troll opened his satchel and pulled out a small jar of grease. "Gimme yer hands, girl. This'll slide dem rings off nice an' easy. If dis happens again, doh, I'm hirin' a new model wif smallah fingahs." Karg watched as the redheaded troll smeared grease on the girl's hands and, with a sharp tug, pulled the rings off one by one. Smiling, the girl rubbed her newly freed fingers. Wiping the rings clean on his pants, the old troll slipped them into his satchel along with the grease. Scowling, he glanced at Karg. "Yer still here?"

"I didn't mean to bother anyone." Karg answered. "I'm conducting an investigation. There was a murder in Sen'jin."

"Oh? Dat so, mon?" The older troll lifted his eyebrows. "Why ain'tcha investigatin' _there_, then?"

"We did. This girl's a citizen of Sen'jin, so I was simply asking if she knew about the murder." Karg huffed, puffing out his chest indignantly.

"Well, she don't. So move alon'. I'm tired of ya guards harassin' me model." The old troll sneered, waving him off with a flick of his wrist. Turning back to the girl, he lifted the string of pearls up off her head and stowed it in his satchel. Face hot with annoyance, Karg seized hold of the troll man's shoulder and jerked him back around.

"You'd better straighten out your attitude, troll." Karg growled. The sun and the long worg ride made him tired. This troll was wearing on his last nerve. "I can speak to anyone I want. And if you get in my way, I'll have you arrested for obstruction of justice."

"Hrmph! If ya lookin' fer a fight, mon, ya picked de wrong troll!" The older troll growled, rolling up his sleeves. His blue arms bulged with muscles.

The female troll let out a shrill giggle and gently pulled the older redhead back. She held him tightly by the shoulder. Grunting, the older troll shrugged her hand off. "Sorry, mistah." She replied quietly, bowing her head to Karg, "We's all a lil' tired. We dun wanna cause trouble."

"Speak fer yerself, girl." The old troll grumbled, folding his arms. Stepping in front of her employer, the troll girl bowed deeply to Karg.

"We're jus' jewel sellers. An', eben doh I'm sorry 'bout de murdah in Sen'jin, I dunno nuffin' dat can help ya." She spoke in a soft, polite voice.

Taking a deep breath, Karg smiled and took a step back. "Then…I apologize for disturbing you." He frowned at the older troll. "Though, I'd advise _you_ to be a little politer next time you speak to a guard. All we're trying to do is help."

"All ya've done all week is harass me model an' distract her from work. Ya tell yer friends dat it's gettin' old!" The male troll growled, arching his neck to glare at Karg over the girl's shoulder.

Karg grimaced. He cleared his throat. "Well! Anyway…goodnight. Stay safe." Placing his helmet back on his head, Karg turned and walked back to where Gren waited with his worg. Gren clapped slowly as Karg mounted his worg. Rolling his eyes, Karg sighed at his companion. "What're you clapping for?"

"Shaking down trolls in the street. You're on your way to becoming a real guard!" Gren laughed as they rode off. "Gorrum will be so proud."

"Shut up, Gren."

* * *

><p>Zaljaf glared bitterly at the orc guard as he rode off on his mount. Taking a handkerchief from his satchel, he offered it to Jenxa. "Wipe yer hands off. Yer gettin' grease everywhere." Jenxa wiped her hands off with the cloth and folded it up. A week passed since she first started modeling his jewelry for him. A few of the more obnoxious guards liked to make cat calls at her when they passed on their patrols. They alternated between whistling lewdly at Jenxa and insulting her small bust. Jenxa gracefully ignored them. She took her modeling duties seriously, standing completely still all day while the customers admired the bangles on her arms or the earrings in her ears. She did exactly at Zaljaf told her and nothing more. He learned early on that he could trust her with his money and his gems. The picture of quiet obedience, Jenxa never took what wasn't rightfully hers.<p>

Still, there was something remarkably odd about her. Even though they didn't talk much, Zaljaf noticed it. Part of her strangeness was the fact that she _didn't_ speak a lot – only when she had a question or when she wanted something. If she had a problem, she was content to sit quietly and wait until Zaljaf noticed (which often wasn't for a while). She blushed and fretted whenever he questioned her about her life in Sen'jin, deflecting all his inquiries with a sudden change of subject. It was as though her life before coming to Orgrimmar never existed. Naturally, Zaljaf just stopped asking about it. There was no reason to pry.

Zaljaf reached again into his satchel and pulled out Jenxa's pay for the day, a sum of 30 gold coins. He dropped them into her outstretched hand. "Been a good week, mon. Maybe soon I'll be able ta open me own storefront. Dat'd be sometin', huh?" He smiled at Jenxa, who smiled back before pocketing her coins. "Ya got plans fer tonight, Jenxa?"

Jenxa shook her head. "Nah. I was jus' gonna go back to de inn." She answered softly.

Zaljaf frowned. "What, ya been here a whole week an' ya still dun have any friends?" Again, Jenxa shook her head. "Dat's a shame. Ya jus' been spendin' de evenin's by yerself all dis time?"

"Yah."

Zaljaf gazed awkwardly at his feet, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well, er…" He began, groping for the words, "I gotta big pig at home. Bought it from de market jus' de uddah day, mon. If ya like…ya could come ovah fer dinnah."

Jenxa's face lit up. "Really?"

"Sure, mon. It's depressin' as hell ta think yer jus' sittin' in de inn alone." He couldn't help but smile a little when he saw her face. Her eyes sparkled at the chance to come over to his house. "Ya any good at cookin'?"

Jenxa nodded. "Yah! I cooked fer me mum all de time!" She exclaimed brightly, hands clasped over her chest.

Zalajaf chuckled quietly. "Well, den, ya can help me fry up de pig an' we'll split it. How's dat?"

"Dat sounds great, Mistah Zaljaf!" She piped like songbird, face aglow with happiness. Zaljaf's face was caught somewhere between a grimace and a grin. What was she so happy about? Staying alone at night in the inn did seem gloomy. Jenxa wasn't the type to sit at the bar and chat up strangers – she didn't do anything unless she was asked to. She was probably just glad to be invited somewhere, even if the one inviting her was a crippled old troll past his prime. Really, there were worse things than sharing a meal with a pretty young girl, though. He didn't often have guests for dinner.

"Awright." Zaljaf concluded. "Stop actin' all happy-happy. It's weird, mon. Ya act like ya've nevah been invited anywhere afore."

Jenxa's grin quickly faded. She blushed deeply, ducking her head. "Sorry."

"H-hey! I didn't say ya couldn't smile…it's just…" Zaljaf sighed, pushing a hand into his hair. "C'mon." He linked arms with her and walked her out into the street. Jenxa held onto his arm, her hands resting lightly on his bicep. The sky overhead with dark, the stars blocked out by the light of Orgrimmar. Zaljaf lead her through the gate into the Drag. With a grunt of effort, he ascended the steps up to the second floor. Every day, he regretted buying a house on the second floor. The stairs were hard on his leg and caused him no small amount of pain. Still, with Jenxa helping to support him, it wasn't quite as hard. Unlocking his front door, Zaljaf ushered Jenxa inside. "Make yerself at home, mon."

Jenxa peered into the dark hut before tentatively stepping inside. She hovered awkwardly in the middle of the floor, her hands clasped over her chest. Zaljaf hobbled past her, dropping his satchel on the table as he passed. The flint and tinder sat atop the brick oven. With a groan of pain, he knelt down and lit a blaze in the oven. One by one, he limped around the small hut and lit the lanterns. Soon, the hut was filled with a warm, friendly glow. He pointed at the chairs. "Dun jus' stand dere, girl."

Jenxa sat down. Zaljaf nodded. Tossing the tinderbox on the table, he hobbled over to his pantry. The pantry was just a small nook in the wall covered by a rudimentary curtain. There, hanging on the back wall of the larder, was the pig. After buying it from the market, Zalajaf had gutted it, sliced the meat up, and salted it. "Ya eat meat?" He called from the larder, taking the strips of pig down from the wall where they hung to dry.

"Y-yah!" Jenxa called back.

The meat in his arm, Zaljaf hobbled back to the stove and unhooked the tin skillet hanging overhead. Dropping the meat in the skillet, he turned back to Jenxa. "Ya drink?"

Jenxa shook her head. "Nah, not me."

"Ya evah _had_ a drink?"

Jenxa's expression went blank. "N-no?"

"Dun knock it til ya've tried it, girl." Disappearing back into his larder, Zaljaf returned with a wineskin and two cups. Setting the first cup down in front of Jenxa, he poured her out some ale. "It's been a good week. We deserve a lil' sometin' ta celebrate, yah?" He smiled at her. Curiously, Jenxa picked up the cup and sniffed its contents. Trying a sip, she scowled and spat it back out.

"It's 'orrible!" She declared, setting the cup back down on the table and pushing it away from her. Zaljaf laughed loudly.

"Takes a while ta get used to. Give it anuddah try, girl. Drinkin's part o' troll heritage. Dere's a reason ol' Vol'jin's in charge o' Brewfest." Laughing again, he turned back toward the meat sizzling on top of the stove. Behind him, he could hear Jenxa sipping on the cup again. He flipped the pork over with a fork, relishing the smell of the meat as it sizzled. "Dere's a few onions in de larder. Get 'em fer me, will ya?" Jenxa's chair squealed on the dirt floor as she rose.

The dinner passed in relative quiet. It was almost as though Zaljaf was eating alone for all Jenxa talked. Still, she smiled so sweetly at him across the table that Zaljaf didn't mind her presence. After some coaxing, she started to enjoy the wine. Alcohol loosened her lips. After a few drinks, she spoke and laughed a little more easily, though still in her quiet, Jenxa like way. Zaljaf wouldn't lie – it was downright funny seeing her drunk. She screamed with laughter at all the jokes he made and slurred her words together so badly that anything she said was half-incoherent. After a few more drinks, she started to get drowsy and nearly fell out of her chair. He watched her all the while with amusement. Jenxa was a complete lightweight, a bona-fide novice when it came to the art of drinking. Not one hour into their dinner, she passed out cold over a half-eaten pork chop, her long hair dangling in the sauce.

"Heh. Ya really are a lightweight, huh, Jenxa?" Zaljaf himself only felt a bit of a buzz. Still, he'd been drinking a lot longer than Jenxa had. Rising from his chair, he went to the chest against the wall. Folded on top of his clothes was a small cloth hammock. Shaking the hammock out, he hung it up in the corner between two hooks. "C'mon, girl." He lifted the sleepy troll out of her chair and dropped her into the hammock. "Ya can stay de night 'ere, I guess. I ain't draggin' yer ass all de way back ta de inn." Hobbling back to the chest, he pulled out a fur coverlet and draped it over the sleeping troll. She murmured something in her sleep, grabbing a fistful of the blanket and pulling it tightly around her. Zaljaf laughed gently. She was like an overgrown child, all curled up like a cat in the hammock. He brushed her hair aside and kissed her on the forehead. "Goodnight, lightweight."

* * *

><p>Jenxa woke up in an unfamiliar place. She lay in a cloth hammock, cocooned in a fur blanket. Blinking sleepily, she disentangled herself from the blanket and sat up. "Dis ain't de inn." She mumbled, rubbing her eyes. No, it wasn't the inn. Somehow, she'd found her way into Zaljaf's hut. The fur coverlet even smelled like him. Glancing down at the hammock, Jenxa came to a shocking realization. <em>This is Zaljaf's bed<em>. Turning a bright purple, Jenxa threw the blanket aside and scrambled out of the hammock, nearly tripping over herself in the process. What exactly was she doing sleeping in Zaljaf's bed? And where was Zaljaf anyway? The hut was empty. The remains of last night's dinner sat on the table, along with several empty cups. All the sudden, Jenxa remembered. She whimpered with shame remembering how drunk she got. Her head throbbed. Even the smallest sounds sent pain shooting through her temples.

All of a sudden, she caught the sound of whistling coming from outside. She shuffled toward the door. Gingerly, she peered outside. Zaljaf stood there, whistling tunelessly and sipping a cup of coffee. He wore the exact same clothes he had on last night. Hearing the door creak open, he glanced over his shoulder and smiled at Jenxa. "Mornin'."

Jenxa stepped outside. "Erm…mornin'?"

"How ya feelin'?"

"Head hurts." Jenxa mumbled. Her face was hot with shame.

"Bet it does." Zaljaf laughed. "Ya can't hold yer drink worth shit."

"I told ya, I dun drink!" Jenxa protested. She lifted her hands to fiddle with her pearl necklace, only to discover she was no longer wearing it. She let out a squeal, groping her pockets for the necklace and not finding it.

Zaljaf blinked. He reached into his pocket and pulled out the necklace. "Lookin' fer dis?"

Jenxa gasped in relief. "Dere it is! I thought it was gone!"

"I took it off ya last night. Ain't safe ta sleep wif a necklace on. Ya could choke yerself." Zaljaf hobbled over and tied the necklace back around Jenxa's neck. "Dere we go. Ya look good in pearls, Jenxa."

Jenxa blushed. "I'm sorry. Fer…last night."

Zaljaf laughed again. "Nonsense! It was righ' funny watchin' ya get drunk. Dun worry, girl. Ya'll learn ta hold yer drink. Jus' takes some time."

"I…I was in yer bed. De hammock." Jenxa stuttered, "Where did ya sleep last night?"

"In de chair. It was fine." Affectionately, Zaljaf reached over and ruffled her hair. "If ya plan on stayin', doh, I'll have ta get anuddah hammock."

Jenxa blinked. "Stayin'?" She echoed curiously, tilting her head.

Zaljaf looked away. He stared up at the sliver of sky visible over the drag. "Well…I was thinkin' dis mornin'. It's 'spensive ta keep puttin' ya up in an inn. Me hut ain't big, bu'…well, there's enough space fer ya, if ya wanna stay. It might be bettah. I'll be able ta fix yer hair in de mornin' an' ya can try on jewelry ta make sure it fits. I dun wanna put rings on yer fingahs until I know dey ain't gonna get stuck." He grinned at her. "Yer gonna have ta pay rent, o' course. I'll take it outta yer pay. Ya know, jus' til ya get yer own place."

Jenxa gazed up at the tall redhead troll. "An'…an' ya won't kick me out fer a model wif smallah fingahs?" She asked timidly.

"Hell no. Why would I do a fool ting like dat? Me jewelry looks best on ya. I wouldn't drive out me best model."

Taking the older troll's hand, Jenxa beamed. "Awright. I'll stay, den!"


	9. The Struggle

Karg stared listlessly down into his stew. Chunks of beef and potato floated in the murky broth. All around him, the mess hall was packed with orcs. Guards hastily devoured their meals before going back out on patrol. As hungry as he was, Karg could not bring himself to eat. He stirred the stew with a wooden spoon, staring blankly into space. His helmet rested at his elbow, dingy with fingerprints and dust. All of a sudden, Gren dropped down in the chair across from him, carrying his own bowl of stew. "Hurry up and eat." Gren insisted, pointing at Karg's bowl with his spoon. "Captain wants to see us in his office."

Looking up at the other orc, Karg frowned. "Captain Gorrum wants to see us?" He asked, dropping his spoon in his bowl, "About the murder?"

"How should I know?" Gren grunted, taking a few hurried bites of stew. He lifted the bowl and chugged down the rest, wiping his mouth off on his arm when he was finished. He gestured again, this time more urgently, to Karg's bowl. "Why aren't ya eatin'? You sick or something?"

Karg looked down at the brownish stew. Grey bits of potato mingled with shrunken carrots and red chunks of beef. With a sigh, he pushed it away. "I'm not hungry."

Gren raised an eyebrow. "You better not be sick."

"I'm not sick. Just…thinking." Karg replied. He held his head between his hands, both elbows resting on the table. His black hair spilled through his fingers. "My brain's too full to think about food."

Chuckling, Gren pulled Karg's bowl over to his side of the table. "More for me, I guess." Sucking down the stew, he looked back up at Karg. "What's bothering you so bad, anyway?"

"That girl."

Gren's eyes widened. He coughed and spluttered, thumping his chest with his fist. Swallowing hard, he gazed at Karg with watery eyes. "What, the troll girl we met yesterday?" He asked, leaning across the table. "_She_'s the reason you've been gloomy all day?"

Karg flushed a dark green. "It's…it's not my fault. She's…she's…" He stammered.

Gren let out a loud cackle, slamming the table with his hand. "Listen to yourself! What is it? She's so beautiful that you can't get her out of your mind?"

"No! She's strange, is what I meant to say!" Karg growled at his friend. Gren's chest heaved with laughter. He took a deep breath, choking down his giggles. "I wouldn't fall in love with a troll. You saw her. She wasn't that pretty."

"No, no, I guess she wasn't." Gren snorted, still chuckling quietly. A few of the other guards were staring at them. Karg's blush deepened. He ducked his head, trying to avoid the eyes of the watchers. "She seemed like an ordinary troll girl too me, though. What's so strange about her?"

"I was just remembering when I saw her in Razor Hill." Karg answered, lifting his head a little. "She was nervous…and she bolted when I mentioned the murder. And this time too…It was obvious, wasn't it? She got upset as soon as I started talking about the death."

Gren's face changed. He stopped grinning and stared curiously at Karg, head tilted to the side. "So…?"

"Gren, I think she's the daughter." Karg responded, "I think she's Jenxa."

The other guard looked down into his bowl. He swept a finger along the rim and sucked it clean. "…You don't have any evidence." He responded, in a voice so calm that didn't seem like it belonged to Gren. "What makes you think that she's Jenxa? Just because she got nervous when you mentioned the murder?"

Karg stared down at the wood grain on the table. "I know…I just…" He paused, sighing, "I want to talk to Commander Gorrum about it. She…She showed up in Razor Hill the day after the murder. That's too strange to ignore. A lone troll girl, wandering out in the desert on her own? That's exactly what we were hunting for, wasn't it?"

"It was." Gren agreed. "But that doesn't explain the old man she was hanging around with."

"No…" Karg rose from the bench, taking his helmet as he rose. "But I'm still going to talk to Commander Gorrum about it. It's too strange to be a coincidence."

"Stranger things have happened, Karg." Gren rose. They left their bowls on the table and exited the crowded mess hall. The mess hall was its own building separate from the barracks. Outside, the blue sky blazed pitilessly over the city. The cliffs provided some shade, but even in the shade, the temperature was far too high for comfort. Karg slipped his helmet on over his head. The captains' offices were located in a hut further away from the barracks. Captain Gorrum waited outside for them. In the bright, mid day light, his burn scars looked even worse. Every ridge and imperfection cast a dark shadow. Karg and Gren saluted him as they approached. Gorrum nodded his head and gestured for them to follow him inside.

Gorrum stepped into the hut. Inside the air was a little cooler, but not much. Taking a bit of cloth from his pocket, Gorrum mopped his forehead. "I'll never get used to this Durotar weather." He grumbled in his low, rough voice. He smiled at the two guards. "Hello, boys. I heard you two were back in Orgrimmar. Did you discover anything about the murder?"

Gren nudged Karg forward. "Tell him."

Gorrum raised a single eyebrow. "Tell me what?"

Karg rubbed the back of his neck. "Well…we didn't have much luck at Sen'jin. By the time we got there, they'd already buried the body."

Pocketing the scrap of fabric, Gorrum frowned. "That's…odd. I wonder why they were in such a hurry to get her underground." He mused, stroking his beard. "We sent word that we were sending an investigation."

Gren shrugged. "Trolls are superstitious about these things."

Gorrum nodded. "Anything else?"

"We figured we'd better just look for the daughter." Karg sighed, rubbing his hands together thoughtfully. "But no one could tell us where she went. Gadrin and his brother were apparently friends of hers, but they weren't talkin'. It's like they said – she just vanished without a trace."

Gorrum continued to stroke his beard, nodding along with Karg's words. "So…you didn't find anything, then."

Karg held up his hands. "Oh, no. I do have…sort of a hunch, if you're willing to listen."

"It's our job to catch the murderer. If you have anything that could get us closer to the killer, tell me now." Gorrum grunted. "Otherwise, if you don't have any leads, I'm taking you off the case. There's been a rash of Alliance attacks on the Ashenvale gate and I can't waste men investigating dead end murder mysteries."

Karg nodded solemnly. "Hear me out." He said, gazing the captain in the face. "The day after the murder, I met a skittish troll girl in Razor Hill. Yellow hair, young, a little on the skinny side. I asked her if she'd heard about the murder and she got real nervous and took off running."

Gorrum cocked his head at Karg. "Oh?"

"According to what I heard from the Sen'jin locals, the daughter was a skinny troll with blonde hair." Karg leaned forward just a bit. "I saw the same girl yesterday. Here, in Orgrimmar."

"And you're sure it's not just a lookalike."

"Dead certain, sir." Karg answered. He could see the troll girl clearly in his mind. Minshina had described Jenxa as a slim girl, tall, with yellow hair. While there were probably dozens of trolls in Orgrimmar who matched that description, her strange behavior singled her out. No one acted that nervous unless they had something to hide.

"Do you know where to find her?"

Karg nodded. "Yes. She's working at a stall in the Valley of Strength."

Gorrum scratched his beard, gazing down at the ground in thought. "Well…go talk to her. If you can get her to admit she's the daughter, I'll let you bring her in for questioning. But I can't just give you leave to arrest random citizens. That could get me in hot water with the Warchief."

"I understand, captain." Karg bowed stiffly. "I'll make sure she's Jenxa before I make a move."

"Good. Dismissed." With a wave of his hand, Gorrum sent them off.

* * *

><p>Overhead, the sun was just beginning to sink. A cool evening breeze stole through the Orgrimmar commons, stirring cloaks and curtains. Switching the 'open' sign on his kiosk to 'closed', Zaljaf turned and smiled at Jenxa. This morning, he'd braided her hair and decked her in gems. Now she stood next to his stall, completely free of jewels save for the heavy pearls around her neck. "I dun see why uddah jewel sellahs dun use models." He said, taking Jenxa's hands. She beamed back at him. "Yer a blessin', Jenxa. Dat's fer sure."<p>

Jenxa blushed purple, ducking her head. "Yer too kind, Mistah Zaljaf."

Zaljaf pinched her cheek affectionately. "Ey, I mean it. " He chuckled, "Business's been so good. Soon we'll be able ta buy a storefront o' our very own, mon. No more standin' out in de heat."

Jenxa nodded, still beaming. "Dat'll be great, Mistah Zaljaf!" She chirruped. Zaljaf reached over and ruffled her hair. She was like a kid, the way she laughed and smiled over trivial things. When she'd first come to his stall, she'd looked sad and nervous. Still, after the first few days, she settled into modeling like a fish into water. She laughed openly with him during their lunch break and happily minded the stall when he had to run errands. But even though they were now sharing a hut, Zaljaf still couldn't get her to talk about her past. Though she grinned and clapped whenever he talked about the shop or his plans for the future, she suddenly reverted back to her old scared, skittish self whenever he broached the topic of her life in Sen'jin. Zaljaf could take a hint. Still, she acted so strangely when the subject came up, he couldn't help but be curious.

Zaljaf sorted her pay out of the day's profits and dropped the coins in her hand. The rest he stowed in his satchel. "Let's go home, eh?" Jenxa grinned as the two of them started for his hut in the Drag.

A lone orc guard waited by the Drag gate, leaning up against the wall. As they approached, he detached from the wall and walked up to them. "Excuse me." The orc began politely, stepping out in front of them. "I need to speak to you, miss."

Zaljaf recognized the guard– it was the same orc he'd caught bothering Jenxa about the murder in Sen'jin. Zaljaf scowled. With a nudge of his elbow, he pushed Jenxa behind him. "Why?" The old troll demanded. Jenxa peered curiously at the orc over Zaljaf's broad shoulders. "I toldja guards ta leave me an' me model alone."

"I'm not here to harass anyone." The orc guard replied, showing his palms in surrender. "I just need to ask her a few questions. It'll only take a second."

"What kind of questions, mon?" Zaljaf's eyes narrowed at the orc.

The orc guard lowered his head. "About the murder in Sen'jin." He said quietly. Jenxa, who'd been fidgeting since Zaljaf pushed her behind him, suddenly stopped moving. Nodding, the orc looked up.

"She got nuffin' ta do wit dat murdah." Zaljaf barked. "She said so herself."

The orc frowned at Zaljaf, dark brows knitting together. "If she's really got nothing to do with the murder, she has nothing to fear. As a member of the Orgrimmar guard force, I demand that you let me speak to her." For a moment, the two of them locked eyes. Zaljaf stared down the orc, brow wrinkled and eyes narrowed. The orc stared back impassively, his face expressionless but somehow haughty. Finally, Zaljaf stepped aside. Nodding, the orc took Jenxa by the shoulder and lead her a few feet away, far enough so that Zaljaf could see them but too far away for him to hear. His ears twitched, trying to pick up the gist of their conversation.

Jenxa stood apart from the orc, her eyes downcast and her hands clasped in front of her. She flinched whenever the orc spoke, as though his words physically hurt her. Whenever he asked her a question, she flushed and whimpered, biting down on her bottom lip before answering. The orc kept asking, though, ignoring Jenxa's obvious discomfort. Zaljaf kept his distance. Finally, giving Jenxa a pat on the shoulder, the orc sent her back toward Zaljaf.

Zaljaf put an arm around Jenxa's shoulder. The orc bowed to the both of them. "Sorry to trouble you two." He said with a friendly smile. Zaljaf scowled. "One more thing, before you go."

"What?" Zaljaf growled.

"Could I get your names? For the record?"

Zaljaf glanced over at Jenxa, than back at the orc. "Zaljaf de jeweler, mon." He squeezed Jenxa's shoulder. "An' dis is Jenxa."

The orc's eyes widened slightly. "Jenxa. That's a…lovely name."

"T-tanks." Jenxa stammered, eyes on the ground.

"How long have you been working for Zaljaf?"

"A…A week?" Jenxa tugged on her pearls.

"I see." The orc bowed again. "Thank you for your time." With that, he turned and jogged off.

Zaljaf glared at the orc as he went. Still holding onto Jenxa's shoulders, he turned to look at her. "Jenxa…what'd he ask ya?" The troll girl flushed purple and looked away, her fingers fiddling with her pearls. Frowning, Zaljaf squeezed her shoulder. "C'mon, mon, ya can tell me."

"He…er…" Her blush deepened. "He tinks I got sumtin' to do wif de murdah."

"Do ya?"

Jenxa looked at him suddenly, her eyes huge and her face almost completely purple. She shook her head forcefully, her braids flying everywhere. She grabbed a handful of his shirt. "No, mon! No way! I didn't do nuffin' wrong!" She insisted with surprising force, gazing up at him desperately.

Gently, Zaljaf pried her hands off his shirt. "I didn't say ya did, mon." He gently patted the top of her head. "Ya seem like a good kid, Jenxa. I dun tink ya'd get mixed up in sometin' bad like a murdah. De orc jus' made a mistake, righ'?"

Jenxa laughed nervously. "Righ'."

" 'Ere, lemme treat ya ta a drink, mon. Yer lookin' a mite jumpy."

* * *

><p>Jenxa couldn't sleep. She lay in her hammock, staring sightlessly up at the ceiling. Across the room, she could hear Zaljaf snoring gently. Closing her eyes, she counted his breaths. One, two, three, four. Even still, the image of the orc guard kept popping back into her head. Jenxa reopened her eyes. Through the thin walls of the hut, she could very faintly hear the sounds of Orgrimmar at night. Every now and then, footsteps would pass by the door. Every time Jenxa heard the footfalls, she tensed. In her mind, she could see the orc guards bursting through the door and dragging her from her hammock. She could picture them throwing her in a dungeon far underground and locking her forever out of sight. She could scream and beg them for mercy, explaining all the while how it wasn't her fault, but reasons didn't matter to people like them. Chest hitching, Jenxa covered her eyes. The question the guard had asked her rung in her head – 'Are you sure you didn't know the victim?' 'Why were you in such a hurry to get to Orgrimmar?' 'Why did you leave Sen'jin in the first place?' She had only barely managed to answer the questions – she was so frightened that the words seemed to catch in her throat. Hot tears dribbled down Jenxa's cheeks. She gasped and sobbed, hiding her face in her pillow. Across the room, Zaljaf's snoring stopped.<p>

"Jenxa?" Jenxa choked down her sobs, muscles tensing. She glanced over her shoulder. On the other side of the room, Zaljaf was sitting up in his hammock. He was shirtless. Even in the low light, Jenxa could make out the rounded shapes of his muscles. His loose, unbraided hair fell in a messy tangle around his head. "Ya awright, mon?" He asked, pushing back his hair.

Slowly, Jenxa sat up. She was grateful for the low light – maybe he wouldn't see her tears. "Sorry, mon." She whispered. "I didn't mean ta wake ya."

Zaljaf squinted at her. Laboriously, he climbed out of his hammock and hobbled toward the table. Picking up the tinderbox, he lit one of the lanterns. "What's wrong?" He asked, setting the tinderbox back down. "It sounded like ya was cryin'."

Jenxa wiped her face. "I…had a sad dream." She lied.

"Ya were sobbin' mighty loud, girl." Zaljaf answered. "Musta been some dream." Jenxa gazed at him. The faint lantern light played off his muscles. Were he about twenty years younger, Jenxa might have thought him handsome. His warrior's physique was so at odds with his lifestyle. Jenxa tried to imagine what he looked like back when he could still fight. How long had he lived like this? Zaljaf peered at her curiously, frowning. "Well?"

"Yah?"

"Ya feelin' awright?"

"…Yah." Jenxa replied weakly, still rubbing her eyes.

Zaljaf nodded, still frowning. "I may not be yer pa or yer uncle or any kinda family…" He began, "bu'…if ya got troubles, Jenxa, I'm willin' ta listen. We ain't known each uddah long, bu'…"

"Ya dun wan a sullen model?" Jenxa finished.

"Nah, mon. Well, dat's part o' it, buh…I dunno. I dun want ya ta feel sad." Zaljaf blew out the light as he limped back to his hammock. Sitting on the edge, he looked steadily over at her. "Bu'…if ya dun wanna share, dat's fine too." He lifted his gimp leg and swung it back into the hammock. The other leg followed. Pulling his covers up to his neck, Zaljaf rolled over away from her. Jenxa sat still, not moving for several seconds.

"…Mistah Zaljaf?" Zaljaf turned, glancing over his shoulder. Jenxa climbed out of her hammock, taking her blanket with her. She wandered over to his side of the hut, her coverlet trailing behind her like a cape. He sat up. Blushing, Jenxa gazed down at her feet. "Is it awright…" She began tentatively, eyes flickering up to gauge his reaction, "…if I sleep in yer bed tonight?"

"…Wha?" Zaljaf wrinkled his nose.

Jenxa's face grew warmer. "I…I mean…when I was lil'…an' I had bad dreams…me mama let me sleep in de bed wif her. Dat was 'fore she got sick…an'…"

Sighing, Zaljaf scooted over a bit and patted the empty space next to him. "Dat's fine." He smiled gently at her. Jenxa dropped her coverlet and climbed in beside him. "Jus' dun make it a habit, awright, mon?" He dropped back against his pillow, eyes closing. Jenxa beamed in spite of herself. She cuddled up next to him, resting her head on his shoulder and hugging his arm. Being so close felt strange – they'd only known each other for a few days – but being near him made her feel safer. Even with his gimp leg, Zaljaf was strong. He could chase off intruders and stand up to the city guards. Jenxa hugged his arm tightly, listening to the whistling sound his nose made when he breathed. For a moment, she was happy.

Jenxa's moment of peace was interrupted by a sudden rap on the door. Both she and Zaljaf sat up. "I'll get it." Jenxa said quietly, letting go of his arm and hopping out of the hammock. Crossing over to the door, she groped for the handle.

Jenxa was met with a bright light when she opened the door. There, outside, stood a group of five orc guards carrying lanterns. Jenxa rubbed her eyes. As soon as he eyes adjusted, she recognized the orc at the head of the group. "Y-you!" She stuttered, stumbling back from the door. Zaljaf stared at her from the hammock.

"Who is it, mon?" He asked, but Jenxa was too stunned to answer. There stood the young orc guard she'd been talking to earlier. Lowering his lantern, the orc guard took a slip of paper from his belt and unfolded it.

"Jenxa," He began, speaking in a low, authoritative tone, "By the order of Captain Gorrum, you are under arrest for the murder of your mother, Antu." He folded the missive. "What do you say?"

"I…" Jenxa stammered, "I…" Behind her, Zaljaf fell out of his hammock. The older troll stumbled to the door, pushing her out of the way.

"Antu?" He babbled, eyes wide. "What's dis about Antu?"

"I am under orders to bring both you and Miss Jenxa to the Orgrimmar Guard headquarters for questioning." The orc guard answered, ignoring Zaljaf's question. With that, he stepped aside to let the other guards forward. One of the guards grabbed Zaljaf by the wrists, pulling him out into the night air. Another guard stepped into the hut and seized hold of Jenxa, dragging her bodily outside. Jenxa struggled violently against her captor, squealing and clawing at his hands.

"She's not coming quietly."

"Hold her!"

Jenxa could no longer think clearly. All her emotions were replaced with rage – a bitter, seething anger at those who'd pulled her from the comfort of Zaljaf's arms. She managed to free one of her hands and swung wildly at the guards. Her fist collided with her captor's head, resulting in a sickening crack. Her captor's grip loosened and he fell back onto his comrades. The moment of freedom didn't last, though. As soon as the first guard was down, another came, capturing Jenxa in a bear hug. She wriggled free, punching and clawing at anyone who dared get too close to her.

"Jenxa! Jenxa!"

Jenxa whirled to look at Zaljaf, who was calling her name just outside the fray. Just as she turned, one of the orc guards cracked her over the head with a fist. Jenxa's vision went fuzzy. All power drained from her legs and she fell. As soon as she hit the ground, blackness.


	10. The Father

(Author's Note: The italics in this chapter indicates a flashback. It also, as usual, indicates that the characters are speaking in Zandali, the language of the trolls. Enjoy.)

* * *

><p>The troll girl – Jenxa – sat on a stool across from Gorrum's desk. Gorrum squinted at her, frowning deeply. He glanced down at the documents on his desk. "Jenxa." He pronounced, reading the girl's name off the paper. "Mother, Antu of Sen'jin. Father, unknown. Do you know why you're here?" Jenxa lowered her head. She kept her hands folded neatly in her lap, her ankles crossed. She fidgeted uncomfortably under Gorrum's steady gaze. Her yellow hair fell in tangled waves over her bare shoulders. Karg had pulled her right out of bed. She still wore her loose, thin nightclothes. After several seconds of silence, Gorrum repeated himself. "I said, do you know why you're here?"<p>

Gren jabbed the girl's shoulder with a fingernail. The girl squealed as though she'd been stabbed. "Captain asked you a question."

"Let her be, Gren." Gorrum scolded. Gren stepped away from the girl, rolling his eyes. The troll rubbed her shoulder, sniffling quietly. Gorrum smiled at the girl. "We're not here to scare you, Miss Jenxa. We just want some answers." He said in a low, soothing voice. The troll girl looked up. She rubbed her eyes. Her face was purple and puffy from crying.

"I…" She hiccupped, wrapping her arms around her shoulders, "I…I d-didn't do a-a-anyfin' w-wrong." Her words were broken by sobs. Tears dribbled down her face and dripped off her chin. She refused to look Gorrum in the eye, instead staring down at the desk where he sat.

"We're not saying you did anything wrong, Miss Jenxa." Gorrum continued in his most soothing voice. He could understand why she was scared. Being dragged out of bed in the middle of the night was scary by itself. As much as he hated to admit it, Gorrum knew he was pretty frightening looking himself, what with his extensive burn scars. "Are you cold? Do you want something to drink?" She'd be more likely to answer questions if they put her at ease first. Jenxa shook her head, hugging herself tighter. Her small chest heaved with sobs. "I need you to cooperate with me. If there's anything I can do to help you relax, please tell me."

"I didn't do anyfin' wrong!" Jenxa cried shrilly, covering her head with her hands. Gorrum sighed, massaging the bridge of his nose in frustration. He pointed to Karg, who stood near the door with Gren.

"Get her a blanket at least. It's not fair to make her sit here in her underwear." Karg saluted and ducked outside into the hall. Gorrum looked up at the girl again. "Miss…all you need to do is answer a few simple questions. We're not going to hurt you. We're not accusing you of anything."

The troll girl lifted her head. "De…de guard said…I was undah arrest." She whimpered.

"He said that, yes, but that's not entirely true. We're just trying to find the truth, Miss Jenxa. And you can help us." He said, smiling at her again. "Don't you want to bring your mother's killer to justice?" Jenxa didn't say a word. Gorrum frowned. "The sooner you cooperate with us, the sooner you'll be able to go home with your, er, employer."

Karg returned with a blanket. He draped it over the girl's naked shoulders. She flinched away from his touch. Pulling the blanket tightly around her, she let out a strangled sob. "O…Okee." She breathed. Gorrum nodded.

"All right, then. Your name is Jenxa, daughter of Antu of Sen'jin." The girl nodded. Gorrum shuffled through his papers. "Exactly nine days ago, your mother was discovered murdered in her hut. Someone had impaled her on a fire poker and pinned her to a table. The record shows that you were nowhere to be found. Is this all true?"

"Y-yah." Jenxa sniffled.

"The day after the murder, Karg Skullcrusher encountered you in the town of Razor Hill. A week after, Karg spotted you again working at a jewelry kiosk in the Valley of Strength." Gorrum finished. He set the papers back down on his desk. "We just need you to fill in the gaps, Miss Jenxa. First things first – what happened on the day of your mother's death?"

Jenxa reached up to her collarbone, touching her neck as if feeling for something that wasn't there. She quickly dropped her hands. "I…I didn't mean ta…" She began, hiccupping, "I really, really didn't…it just…it just…" She rubbed her watery eyes.

"Didn't mean to…what?" Gorrum prodded, tilting his head toward the girl.

"I was…I was jus'…jus' so scared an'…"

"Miss Jenxa, take a deep breath." Gorrum advised. The troll girl did as she was told. "Now…tell us clearly what happened on the day of your mother's death." However, it was no use. The troll started crying again. She covered her face with her hands, body trembling with the force of her sobs. Hugging her knees to her chest, Jenxa curled into a heaving, shaking ball. Closing his eyes, Gorrum groaned. "We're not getting anywhere with this."

Karg stepped forward. "Maybe we should give her some time to calm down."

Gorrum nodded. "That seems like our only option at this point. Karg, take Miss Jenxa back to the holding pen. Gren, fetch me the man she was with." He glanced back down at his papers. "This jeweler, Zaljaf. I want to question him as well."

Gren saluted. "Yes, sir." With that, he vanished out the door. Karg took hold of the troll girl's shoulders and lead her out of the room. Gorrum spread his papers out across the table. There were a thousand different pieces to this murder. No matter which way he looked at them, none of the bits seemed to fit together. Just who was Jenxa? And who was this 'Zaljaf' she'd been living with? And what did it have to do with the murder? Gorrum had been captain of the Orgrimmar Guard for many years now, but he'd never seen a murder quite as convoluted as this one.

* * *

><p>Zaljaf sat in the dark, his back to the holding pen wall. They'd taken Jenxa away before he got a chance to speak with her. The night's events played over and over again in his mind. Groaning, he rubbed his head. He could feel a large bump forming on the back of his skull. The last thing he remembered was seeing Jenxa fall. After that, he'd tried to fight back, but the guards overwhelmed him. One of them had cracked him over the head with the hilt of his sword. Next thing Zaljaf knew, he was here in the holding pen with the unconscious Jenxa. As soon as she came to, though, the guards dragged her from the pen. Zaljaf hadn't gotten a word in edgewise. All he could do now was wait.<p>

The holding pen door creaked open. Zaljaf lurched forward. "Jenxa?" He asked, squinting to see the figure entering.

"Guess again." The orc guard hauled him to his feet. Zaljaf hissed in pain. His leg throbbed painfully under him. "Captain wants to ask you a few questions."

Zaljaf snarled and threw a punch at the orc guard. The guard ducked, seizing hold of Zaljaf's wrists and squeezing. Hissing, Zaljaf tried to jerk free. "Where's Jenxa?" He demanded.

"She's fine." The guard answered, "But you won't be if you try any more of this shit." The guard gripped Zaljaf's wrist a little tighter. The bones in Zaljaf's arm popped sickeningly.

"Let go o' me!" The old jeweler spat. He swung with his free arm, but the orc caught his fist.

"I told you, your girl's fine." The orc sneered. "You coming quietly or not?"

"I need to talk ta Jenxa, mon. Dis is important!" Zaljaf pleaded.

"There'll be time to talk once the questioning is over." Still gripping Zaljaf's wrist, the orc led him outside. Zaljaf looked up at the sky. The dark blue night was stained with the faintest pink blushes of dawn. He'd only been unconscious for a few hours at most. His head reeled. Where was Jenxa? He had to talk to her, to tell her that…

The orc led him to a hut standing separate from all the others. Gripping Zaljaf by the shoulders, the orc pushed him inside. "I brought the man for you, captain." Inside, the small office was lit with lantern. A bulky, muscular orc, his entire right side colored with burn scars, sat behind a desk toward the back of the room. An eye patch hid his right eye, but the left eye was small and orange. The burned orc gestured to a stool a few feet in front of the desk. Still pushing Zaljaf along, the orc guard forced him down onto the stool. Zaljaf sat. He clenched and unclenched his fists, trying to keep from lashing out at the guards again.

"Good morning." The burned orc said. "I'm Captain Gorrum of the Orgrimmar Guard. And you are Zaljaf the jeweler, if I'm not mistaken."

"Dat's me, mon." Zaljaf grumbled, glaring at the captain from under his bangs.

"Do you know why you're here?"

"All I know is dat some crazy orcs pulled me an' me model outta bed in de middle o' de night an' dragged us down here." Zaljaf stared defiantly at the captain. "Where's Jenxa?"

"She's fine." As soon as the captain spoke, another orc guard entered the room. Zaljaf glowered at him over his shoulder. It was the very same orc guard who'd come to arrest them earlier. The guard bowed to the captain.

"Miss Jenxa's safe back in the holding pen, sir." The guard announced.

Gorrum smiled. "See? She's all right. Now…Mister Zaljaf, all I want to do is ask you a few questions. That's fine, isn't it?"

Zaljaf chuckled bitterly. "Ya have yer boys pull us outta bed in de night, knock us ovah de heads, an' den throw us in a cell. Sorry ta say it, cap'n, bu' I ain't really amenable ta answerin' questions righ' now."

"That's too bad, because I'm asking anyway." The captain replied. "As long as you cooperate, we can wrap this up and send you home all the sooner. But if you want to stay and struggle over this all night, we can do that too."

"Ask away, den, mon." Zaljaf couldn't feel more humiliated. He sat before the orc captain half naked in just his slacks with his long hair falling all over his face. His gimp leg dangled off the edge of the stool, useless. The orcs eyed him with disdain. Zaljaf's skin burned with loathing. How dare they drag him from his home in the middle of the night? How dare they force him to sit half naked through an interrogation? He scowled at the guard captain.

The captain glanced at his papers, then back at Zaljaf. "Zaljaf. Occupation – jeweler. You have a stall in the Valley of Strength, where you sell handcrafted jewelry. Is this all true?"

"Yah, mon."

Gorrum eyed him suspiciously. "How long have you been working in Orgrimmar?"

Zaljaf shrugged. "Four years, give 'r take."

"And what is your relationship to Miss Jenxa?"

Zaljaf shook his head. "I dun even know anymore, mon."

Gorrum raised an eyebrow. "And what is that supposed to mean?"

Zaljaf looked directly at the captain. "Jenxa's dead mum. Her name was Antu, righ'?"

Gorrum glanced down at his papers. "Yes, it was Antu."

"It's a funny ting, mon." Zaljaf combed back his hair with his fingers. For a moment, he forgot his rage at the orc guards. His head swarmed with thoughts. Antu. The name struck a chord inside him, echoing in his memory. When he heard the name, it called forth images of a time long past. He saw lush, steamy jungles, long, starless nights, and a young woman with yellow hair. "It's been…well, near twenty years since I last seen me mate. Bu' dat dun mean I's forgotten her. No, nevah. When I heard dat lad down dere say Jenxa's mum's name, well, I nearly fell ovah in shock. Antu, ya see…dat was me mate's name."

Gorrum's eyes widened. He leaned forward over his desk, craning his strong neck to get a better look at Zaljaf's face. "Is…Is that so?"

Zaljaf grimaced. "Yah, mon, it's so."

Gorrum shook his head. "But…it can't be the same Antu, can it?"

"'Antu' ain't a common name, mon." Realizations pinged against Zaljaf's consciousness. The memories of his years with Antu were hazy with time, but he still held onto them. When he first caught sight of Jenxa wandering through the Valley of Strength, she'd looked unsettlingly familiar, though he couldn't pinpoint why. He'd recognized her tall, skinny figure and her long blonde hair. She looked like someone he knew, even if he couldn't remember who. Perhaps that was why he'd had her model for him. Only now did he realize it – she was the spitting image of his mate at that age. The only difference was the eye color. Antu had orange, sunset colored eyes. Jenxa's were gold. "It was…so long ago."

"Are you…" The captain began, squinting at Zaljaf, "Are you suggesting that you're Jenxa's father?"

Zaljaf opened his arms, gesturing to himself. "'Ey…I'm old enough, ain't I?

Gorrum shook his head. "I…I don't believe this. You come in here telling me that you're this girl's missing father. The father that, my records say, she's had no contact with for the last eighteen years."

"I don't quite believe it eithah, mon."

"And you just _happened_ to run into her the moment she came to Orgrimmar. What are the odds of that - just turning a corner and meeting your estranged father? I don't believe it, Mister Zaljaf. I do not." Gorrum concluded, standing and slamming his hands down on the desk. Zaljaf gazed at his feet. Painful memories bubbled up in the back of his mind. "I am searching for a murderer. Not some troll girl's lost family. Unless you know anything about this...Antu's murder, I have no use for you." Gorrum dropped back into his chair, massaging his temples.

"I ain't been to Sen'jin since I first came here, mon. I dun know nothin'."

Gorrum glared at Zaljaf through his fingers. "Take him back to the holding pen." He ordered. The two orc guards approached Zaljaf from behind, pulling him off the stool and dragging him toward the door. Zaljaf didn't resist. They hauled him through the courtyard back to the holding pen. Overhead, the sky was lavender with dawn. Zaljaf stumbled along with the orc guards, not fighting back when they opened the holding pen door and shoved him inside.

The inside of the holding pen was dark. There were no windows and only a faint, silver beam of light crept in under the door. As his eyes adjusted to the dark, he could make out the hunched form of Jenxa crouching in the corner. "Jenxa?" He called. She looked up, the silhouette of her head just barely visible against the dark wall.

"Zaljaf!" She scrambled to her feet and dashed over to him, throwing her arms around his neck. Zaljaf caught her, wrapping his arms around her torso. His daughter. She was his daughter. Zaljaf squeezed her tightly. "I was worried dey'd taken ya away!"

"It's awright, mon. I'm here." Zaljaf replied. "I…I want to tell ya sometin', Jenxa. Sometin' important."

She pulled away from him. "What?"

Zaljaf took her hand. He sat down, pulling her down to the floor with him. "It's…a story ya need ta hear, mon. Maybe aftah ya hear it, tings will make sense."

* * *

><p><em>The moon hung high in the sky over the Cape of Stranglethorn, bleaching the landscape with its white light. Fireflies danced through the trees, turning lazy circles in the air and lighting delicately on the plants. Steam rose off the nearby river, shrouding the low jungle like the veil of a bride. Zaljaf, only twenty, sat next to Antu on the riverside. Reaching out, he captured one of the fireflies in his fist. Smiling, he turned to Antu. The small bug glowed inside his hand. Unfurling his fingers, he let it go. Looping dizzily in the air, the firefly drifted up out of reach. "Now you try." He said.<em>

_Antu frowned up at the fireflies. Licking her lips, she rose to her feet and made a grab at one. Opening her hand, she grinned down at the small, glowing bug. "My big brother used to catch these in a jar. He'd put them by my bedside so I wouldn't be afraid of the dark." She said, letting the firefly free. Grinning, she dropped back down next to Zaljaf. "They're really beautiful, aren't they?" _

_Zaljaf wrapped an arm around her shoulders, squeezing her fondly. "Not as beautiful as you."_

_Antu giggled, kissing her lover on the cheek. She rested her head in the crook of his neck, stroking his bare chest with her fingers. "I haven't played with fireflies since I was a kid." She sighed. "The jungle's peaceful at night, isn't it?"_

"_I have a gift for you."_

_Antu cocked her head curiously at Zaljaf. He turned away from her, searching his pockets for her present. Finally, he found it. Taking the necklace from his pocket, he lifted it up to let her see it. The pearls gleamed brightly in the moonlight, segmented on the string by shimmering bits of gold. Antu gasped in delight, taking the necklace and reverently touching the shiny stones. "It's beautiful!" She exclaimed. Pushing back her hair, Zaljaf helped her tie it around her neck. "Where did you get this?"_

"_I made it." Zaljaf answered. "For you."_

"_Where did you find all these pearls? And this gold?" Antu asked, brushing the necklace with her fingers._

_Zaljaf blushed. "Well…it took a lot of digging and a lot of diving, but…you're worth it."_

_Antu squeezed his arm. "It's lovely. I can't believe you made it all by yourself. You're an artist."_

_Zaljaf chuckled, his blush deepening. "Me? No…I just wanted to give you something special. Because I love you."_

_Antu pulled him into a kiss. As they parted, she stroked his cheek. "You're so kind to me, Zaljaf. Not like the others." All of a sudden, her smile faded. She turned away from Zaljaf, staring instead at the steamy surface of the river. Zaljaf's grin dropped off his face. Leaning in, he gripped Antu's shoulder._

"_Are they giving you trouble again?" He asked, a hint of a growl in his voice. Antu shrugged off his hand._

"_It's nothing."_

"_If they're bothering you, I'll—"_

_She cut him off. "I said it's nothing, Zaljaf. Honestly."_

_Zaljaf's hand fell off her shoulder. "I don't care what they say. They're jealous. You're the strongest warrior in the village and they can't stand it. It doesn't matter that you're a woman."_

"_Don't say it like that!"_

_Zaljaf raised an eyebrow. "Sorry?"_

"_I fight hard. Gender isn't important. Calling me a woman is just singling me out as different."_

_Zaljaf chuckled. He lifted her hands and kissed them. "You are a woman, Antu. To me." Antu blushed brightly, ducking her head. Zaljaf laughed again, kissing her shoulder. "The most beautiful woman in Stranglethorn."_

"_And you are the most sentimental berserker I've ever met." Antu huffed, tugging affectionately on his braids, "But I like that about you."_

"_I'm glad." They kissed again. Antu hooked her arms around Zaljaf's neck, drawing him closer to her. Zaljaf's hands moved over her curves, groping her body hungrily. Gently, she pulled him down on top of her. _

_The two trolls lay entwined on the river bank as the fireflies swirled overhead._

* * *

><p><em>Zaljaf woke to the sound of Antu vomiting. She leaned heavily against the doorframe with her back to him, emptying the contents of her stomach all over the ground. "Antu?" Zaljaf called. Antu turned slightly, managing to look him in the eye before she doubled back over in sickness. Pushing back the blankets, Zaljaf rushed to her side. Gently, he rubbed her back. "Antu? What's wrong?" The door to their hut stood open. The sun was just rising over the trees. Tears rolled down Antu's cheeks. Her face was purple with discomfort.<em>

"_I just woke up…and I felt sick." She croaked, clutching her stomach. "Urp…." Her mouth filled and she rushed back outside. Hot stomach bile spilled out on the sand. Zaljaf followed her out, holding back her hair as she vomited._

"_We'd better take you to see the witchdoctor." Zaljaf concluded."You say it just started this morning?"_

_Antu nodded, wiping her face with her arm. Linking arms with her, Zaljaf walked her away from the hut. The village witchdoctor lived in the center of town in a hut by himself. It was just a short walk from the house he and Antu shared, but Antu vomited all the way there. Finally, they reached the witchdoctor's hut. After a few knocks, the old witchdoctor answered. "Yes? How can I help you?" He asked, then he noticed Antu hunched over with nausea. _

"_My mate is sick." Zaljaf answered. Nodding, the witchdoctor stepped aside. Gently, Zaljaf ushered Antu in. Once inside, Antu dropped down in the first free chair she found. Zaljaf hovered nervously by her side. "She just started vomiting this morning. She usually never gets sick."_

_The witchdoctor nodded. He examined Antu closely, peering into her eyes and mouth. "Hm." Turning, he began digging through his cabinet of supplies. Finally, he retrieved a small vial and handed it to Antu. "Go out back and urinate into this." He ordered. Antu nodded weakly. She rose from her chair and shuffled outside. _

_Zaljaf frowned. "Why do you need her urine?" He asked._

"_I have a feeling your mate may be with child." The witchdoctor answered. Zaljaf nearly fell over in shock._

"_With child?" He spluttered. _

"_Yes." The witchdoctor nodded. "It's common for women to vomit when they're with child."_

"_She can't be. We—" _

_Antu pushed the hut door open. In one hand, she gripped the now-filled vial. With the other, she rubbed her stomach. Zaljaf gaped at her, looking her up and down, trying to find some change in her appearance that'd betray her pregnancy. She looked no different than usual. Blinking blearily, she handed the vial off to the witchdoctor and sat back down. The witchdoctor retreated to his work table, taking a handful of powder and dropping it into the vial. He swished the vial around experimentally. The contents changed color. He turned back to the couple, giving them a congratulatory smile. "It's official – you are pregnant, Miss Antu."_

_Antu's eyes widened. "Wha—?" She rubbed her eyes, "Pregnant?"_

"_You're going to have a baby."_

"_A…A baby?" At the news, Antu began to cry._

* * *

><p><em>After hearing that Antu was pregnant, the other warriors refused to let her fight with them. Antu spent her days confined to the hut. Every now and then, Zaljaf would catch her crying quietly by herself. 'It's only for now', Zaljaf reassured her, 'You'll be able to fight again once the baby is born.' His attempts at comforting fell flat, though. All through the nine months that Antu carried the child, she refused to let him touch her. She refused even to sleep in the same bed with him. Even so, she never took her anger out on the child. Antu was good. She stayed in bed and let the pregnancy run its course.<em>

_He sat down next to her on the bed, Scowling, she rolled over away from him. Gently, he stroked her thigh. "I'm going to take my raptor for a run. Are you all right here?"_

"_I'm fine." Antu growled, slapping his hand away. Zaljaf frowned down at her, but said nothing. Silently, he rose from the bed and stepped outside. His raptor, a great blue beast with yellow stripes, waited in the communal village stables with the other raptors. Saddling his raptor up, Zaljaf mounted and headed for the gate. The witchdoctor was there waiting for him._

"_Zaljaf, wait." The witchdoctor called, running up to him. Zaljaf pulled his mount to a halt. "Your mate. How is she?" _

_Zaljaf shook his head. "She's being stubborn. I think she hates me." He sighed. _

"_I noticed she's getting big. Do you need me to send one of my apprentices over to your hut?" _

_Zaljaf shook his head. "I don't think she's quite ready to give birth yet. But thank you for your concern, witchdoctor. Right now, I think it would be better if everyone just left Antu alone."_

"_A man shouldn't bow to the whim of his mate."_

"_I know, witchdoctor. But Antu is stronger than most women. It's best to let her have her way." Giving his raptor a gentle kick, Zaljaf rode out into the jungle. _

"_Be careful!" The witchdoctor shouted after him. "There's a storm coming!"_

_Zaljaf ignored the witchdoctor's warning. Summer was Stranglethorn's rainy season anyway. Short thunderstorms battered the cape almost every day. Zaljaf knew how to ride in the rain. Muddy trails and slick vegetation posed no problem for him. Holding tight to his raptor's reins, Zaljaf trotted through the dense, verdant forest. Everywhere, he could hear the sounds of frogs croaking and wild raptors bellowing. _

_These rides calmed him. He enjoyed them almost as much as he enjoyed working with his hands. Antu still wore the necklace he'd made for her a year ago. Zaljaf took it as the only sign that she still loved him. _

_His raptor's feet beat a steady rhythm against the ground. Overhead, dark clouds gathered on the horizon. The storm was still far off, a massive pillar of darkness looming out over the sea. Zaljaf ignored the distant roar of thunder, focusing instead on the beat of his raptor's stride. They were deep in the jungle now, far away from the village. He closed his eyes, breathing deeply. For a moment, he forgot about Antu and the child in her womb. _

_All of a sudden, the storm was upon him. Torrents of rain crashed down over his head. The dark clouds blotted out the sun, casting an unnatural darkness over the cape. Zaljaf gasped as the rain struck him. The tiny drops came down in a merciless hail. They felt like a thousand tiny needles on his bare shoulders. In the sudden darkness and wet, his raptor let out a deep bellow. Its feet slipped out from underneath it and it toppled over. A sudden, sharp pain tore through Zaljaf's leg as the raptor hit the ground. He cried out in pain._

_The raptor struggled back to its feet. Zaljaf's right foot remained hooked in the stirrup. "No!" He shouted, but the raptor didn't listen. Another bolt of thunder struck. The raptor let out a frightened bellow and took off running, dragging Zaljaf along with it. It didn't slow down, no matter how much he screamed._

_By the time he got his leg free of the stirrup, the rain had stopped and Zaljaf was alone in a part of the jungle he'd never seen before. He couldn't even feel his right leg. It was as though someone had cut it clean off._

* * *

><p><em>By the time Zaljaf made it back to the village, Antu had already given birth. She held the baby in her arms as the old witchdoctor treated Zaljaf's leg. With a sigh, the witchdoctor stepped back. When he looked at Zaljaf, the old troll's eyes were filled with unfathomable sadness. "Well?" Zaljaf asked, "Will it heal? When will I be able to walk again?"<em>

_The witchdoctor shook his head. "It will be a miracle if you can ever walk again, Zaljaf." He replied. Zaljaf's face fell. "Your leg…well…it's…it's shattered. If I had gotten to you in time, I might have been able to fix it, but…now…"_

"_I-I…I can't…" Zaljaf stammered, "I can't be a cripple. I…I have a child to take care of."_

_The witchdoctor shook his head again. "I can do nothing. I'm sorry."_

_Slowly, Zaljaf turned to look at Antu and his child. The little girl gurgled in her mother's arms. A delicate yellow fuzz covered her small head. "Antu…" He began, gazing pleadingly at his mate. She was wearing the necklace he'd given her._

"_I don't want to care for both a baby and an invalid." She replied coldly. Her words struck Zaljaf like a punch to the gut. "You're just a burden now."_

_Zaljaf reached out to take her hand. She pulled it away from him. "Antu…Antu, how can you say such things? I thought you loved me."_

"_I thought you loved me too. Then you forced me to have your child." Clutching the baby, she turned and exited the witchdoctor's hut. That was the last Zaljaf ever saw of her._

* * *

><p>"She…she left de village aftah dat, mon. Took de kid wif her." Zaljaf concluded. "I nevah saw her or de babeh again. I didn't know if dey was alive or dead. Aftah a few years, I started walkin' again, though everyone said I couldn't. An' den I came ta Orgrimmah. I sorta hoped I'd find her, bu'…aftah a year o' lookin', I finally gave up on 'er." As he finished his story, he looked down at Jenxa. She knelt across from him, her face hidden by the darkness. He couldn't read her expression.<p>

After a few seconds of silence, Jenxa reached out and took his hands. She pressed her palms up against his. His hands were much larger than hers and covered in calluses. "So…" She began, her voice trembling, "So…dat babeh…"

"Was you, mon." Zaljaf finished. "I tink it was you. Yer da right age an'…well, ya look a lot like her now dat I tink about it. Jus' the eyes are different. Ya…ya have me eyes."

Jenxa looked up at him. "H-how…?" She asked quietly. Zaljaf shook his head.

"I dunno, Jenxa. Maybe it was fate." He smiled in the darkness. "Some kind-hearted spirit guided ya back ta me."

Jenxa was very still for a few moments. She looked down at their entwined hands. All of a sudden, she lurched forward and threw her arms around him. Zaljaf hugged her back tightly, rocking her back and forth. "Papa…" She whispered. At the sound of the word, Zaljaf broke down. He wept quietly into Jenxa's hair.


	11. The Mother

Father.

Jenxa couldn't remember the word for 'father' in her language. 'Papa' was the only thing she could think to say. She'd never called anyone that, not even Master Gadrin, who was as close to a father figure as she'd ever had. Zaljaf held her for what seemed like hours, rocking her back and forth and kissing her face. His cheeks were damp with tears. Jenxa couldn't think of anything to do or say, so she held onto him. She didn't know why he was weeping. Finding something you'd lost was supposed to be joyous. But, if Jenxa was honest, she didn't feel very joyous either. If anything, finding her father left her feeling emptier than before.

Finally, Zaljaf let her go. He rubbed his eyes with the heels of his hands. "I…I lost meself there for a second, mon." He took a deep breath. Even in the low light, Jenxa could still see the glimmer of tears rolling down his cheeks. Running his hands over his face, Zaljaf wiped them off. "All dis time, you an' Antu was righ' undah me nose."

"Mistah Zaljaf—I mean, Papa." Jenxa corrected herself, "All dis…it's really true, ain't it? Dis…ain't some mistake?"

"I dun see how it could be, mon. It's dere, in yer face. I dunno why I didn't see it before. Ya look jus' like she did." He lifted her chin with his hand, squinting at her in the darkness. "Maybe I'm blind as well as crippled."

"Oh, no, Mistah Zaljaf." Jenxa took his hands. "I'm…I'm really happy dat I got a papa now. Bu'…" Jenxa looked down at the floor, her hair falling like curtains around her face. "Bu'…mama…"

"Antu." Zaljaf sighed. "She's dead. I know."

Jenxa nodded silently.

Zaljaf stared at the dark walls. "Ya know…I feel like, well, I feel like I should feel sad, mon. Bu' I dun feel anytin'. Ya probably hate ta hear dat, since she's yer muddah, bu'…it was so long ago dat I was wit her. We was both so young when ya was born, Jenxa. We was jus' kids ourselves."

"I know." Jenxa replied. She gripped Zaljaf's hand in hers. "I…I dun feel sad eithah."

Zaljaf looked at her curiously. "Yer muddah. Was she good ta ya? Was she kind?" He asked, squeezing her hand. His hands were rough with calluses, but warm. Jenxa looked down at them. These were the hands of her father. The thought was odd, even a little unsettling. Mama rarely spoke about Jenxa's father and when she did, it was with great disdain. A father was something Jenxa was not supposed to have.

"Sometimes." Jenxa answered after pondering the question for a moment.

Zaljaf frowned. "Only sometimes, mon?"

Jenxa nodded. "She could be kind, when she wanted. Dere were times when she'd yell at me or slap me, bu'…well, she always said she was sorry aftah."

Zaljaf seized her by the shoulders, squeezing her hard. "She beat ya? Antu beat ya?"

Jenxa shook her head vigorously, prying off Zaljaf's hands. "No! No, Mistah Zaljaf, no! She'd slap me a time or two, bu' she nevah beat me! It was jus' when I did sometin' wrong, ya see, so I'd learn ta behave meself." She asserted. Zalja'fs hands fell away from her shoulders, "It wasn't nuffin'. She'd yell too, bu' dat's normal fer parents. Dat's de only way a kid can learn."

"Ya believe dat, girl?" Zaljaf balked. Jenxa nodded, "When…when she slapped ya, how hard did she hit? Did she leave bruises?"

Jenxa shook her head again. "No, no, sah. It stung righ' bad fer a while, bu' it didn't leave bruises."

"Jenxa, Antu was one o' de strongest warriahs I eva met. If she struck ya hard enough, she could knock all yer teeth out. Ya can't sit dere an' tell me it didn't leave bruises."

Jenxa blushed, ducking her head. "Well, maybe, bu' she always said she was sorry."

Zaljaf sat stunned across from her. He ran a hand over his face, pushing back his bangs. "…Spirits." He muttered breathlessly, staring off into some hidden dark corner of the room. Jenxa looked up at him, frowning, her head tilted to the side.

"Zaljaf?" She asked.

"Was…was dere anytin' else? Didja have friends, Jenxa? Didja go to any kinda school? I…I wanna know." His voice was full of pleading, as if he was begging someone to spare his life. He touched her shoulders again, his rough fingernails digging into her skin. "There musta been sometin'."

Jenxa was thankful for the darkness. She didn't want to see his expression. "I didn't go ta school." Jenxa replied, "Til Mama an' I came ta Durotar, it was jus' us. She didn't like me wanderin' or talkin' ta folks she didn't know. Dat's okay, I guess. She was me mama. I remembah when we first came ta Sen'jin. Mastah Gadrin an' his lil' bruddah came out ta say hello. Dat was de first time I saw a troll kid me own age." Jenxa couldn't help but smile a little at the memory. "Bu', even den, it was mostly jus' her an' me."

"All alone?"

Jenxa shrugged. "She started gettin' sick soon aftah we got ta Durotar. I had ta take care o' her, like a good daughtah." She looked up at Zaljaf. "Dat's what Mastah Gadrin tol' me ta do."

"An'…an' you nevah got sick o' it? Ya jus' took care o' her, no questions asked?"

Jenxa thought for a moment. "No…" She sighed. A clot of guilt had settled in her stomach. Why was she telling him all this? If Mama was still alive, she'd be mad. This was family business just for the two of them. But Zaljaf was family now, wasn't he? "Towards de end…o' her life, I mean...toward de end, I started gettin' tired. She was tired too. An' she snapped at me more often, called me names, bu' I knew dat was jus' de sickness talkin'. Still, I felt bad an' sometimes…sometimes I jus' wished she'd hurry up an' die."

"Jenxa…"

Jenxa's eyes began to water again. "I…I know dat it sounds awful. Sometimes, while I was scrubbin' de blood outta her blankets or…or aftah she'd yelled at me, I just thought…it'd be real easy jus' ta kill her. She was gettin' ready ta die anyway. Bu'…I hated myself fer tinkin' dat. Good daughtahs don't tink those tings." She stared up at Zaljaf, "I jus'…I wanted ta be free."

Zaljaf was silent for a moment. Gently, he reached up and brushed her cheek. "I know." He said quietly. With that, he pulled her into another embrace. Jenxa let herself be hugged, but was unable to hug back. Her arms felt like thousand pound weights.

At the beginning of her mother's sickness, it wasn't so bad. Mama was still strong enough to cook and clean up after herself. She didn't snap at Jenxa nearly as much. Toward the end, though, the demands grew more ridiculous – furs, Mama demanded, heat, potions. Jenxa didn't have the funds to get it all. If she didn't get what she wanted, Mother threw a fit. She began to smell and her blankets required constant cleaning. Because of her horrible bedsores, she was nearly always bleeding. By the end, Jenxa could barely stand living with her. Between the smell and the demands and Mama's moods, there was absolutely no joy to be found. When Jenxa found that single pearl in the oyster, she'd felt vaguely happy, but Mama had to take _that_ away too. Just thinking about it made Jenxa whimper with frustration and helplessness. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. It was over now, wasn't it? Mama was dead.

Even buried in the ground, Mama had a hold on her. Mama was the reason she was locked up in this dark, dreary cell.

All of a sudden, the holding pen door swung open. A flood of dim pre-dawn light spilled in. Jenxa and Zaljaf squinted in the sudden illumination, shading their eyes. There stood the three orcs – the two guards who'd arrested them and the captain. In his fist, the captain clutched a scroll.

"You two." He said gruffly, pointing down at them. Jenxa slipped out of Zaljaf's arms and stood. Extending a hand to the crippled troll, she helped him to his feet, "We pulled some records. Come with me."

Hand in hand, Zaljaf and Jenxa followed the orcs out the door.

* * *

><p>Gorrum was a simple orc. He didn't put stock in things like luck and faith. Back when he was a young soldier on the battlefield, he remembered seeing his comrades praying for good luck before a decisive battle. Their prayers didn't stop them from getting eviscerated by the enemy. The men who carried magic charms and horseshoes on their belts were the first to fall. Only those with strength, ambition, and cunning escaped with their lives. No, Gorrum didn't believe in luck. So when Zaljaf came to him saying that Jenxa was his daughter and they'd magically run into each other, he didn't believe it. Things like that didn't happen in real life. Maybe in cheap novels, but definitely not in real life.<p>

Zaljaf was mysterious just by himself. Why was a middle aged troll sharing his hut with a teenage girl anyway? Claiming to be the father just solidified his position as a suspect. He was a cripple, but he still had the muscles of a warrior. It would take a man with horrendous strength to drive a blunt fire poker all the way through a woman's spine. As Zaljaf sat for interrogation, Gorrum couldn't help but notice his well developed arms. Jenxa, the other suspect, was skinny. She was frail. Gorrum couldn't imagine her _lifting_ a fire poker, let alone using it to stab her beloved mother. Zaljaf, however, had the muscles to do it. And if he was truly the father, he had a motive.

Gorrum could see the murder unfolding in his head. Estranged father has a chance encounter with his long lost child. Perhaps he wants her back. But the daughter's surly, dying mother requires care and the daughter can't leave her side. What easier solution than to kill the mother and kidnap the daughter? If they were truly mates, Zaljaf and Antu had been separated for a long time. That alone bespoke of marital troubles. Perhaps it was a revenge murder. Zaljaf's immigration records listed him as a former berserker. Even if crippled, he'd surely be able to muster up enough anger to impale a helpless invalid. Berserkers fed off rage – it made them strong. Gorrum was convinced. It had to be Zaljaf. All he needed was some proof that he and Jenxa were truly related. Even if they weren't related, Zaljaf's behavior was too suspicious to dismiss.

The two trolls sat in his office, perched on their respective stools. Gorrum eyed them both from his desk. "Unless there are any more sudden revelations in store, you two are my prime suspects." The trolls exchanged glances. "So? Nothing new to add?"

Zaljaf shook his head. "We dun got anyfin' ta do wit da murdah, mon. On me honah."

Gorrum snorted. "We'll see about your honor." He glanced down at the papers on his desk, "I'll start with you, Miss Jenxa." The troll girl swallowed hard, "You have a history of odd behavior. Karg noted you acting strangely in Razor Hill. He also wrote that you denied knowledge of both the murder and your mother upon questioning. I don't have to tell you that this behavior does not support your innocence, Miss Jenxa. Not to mention your dialogue during the interrogation earlier was highly suspicious."

Jenxa's face went purple. She stared at the floor, avoiding eye contact with Gorrum. "I…I was scared." She whimpered.

Gorrum peered down his nose at the girl, snorting. "Yes, well, I cannot give you a pass simply because you were afraid." Narrowing his eyes, Gorrum turned toward Zaljaf. "And you. You're even worse than she is."

Zaljaf raised his eyebrows. "I am, mon?"

"Karg noted that you were openly hostile toward him on more than one occasion. It seems every time Karg tried to speak to Miss Jenxa about the murder, you were there trying to chase him off." Gorrum continued, "Not to mention your physique. Tell me, Mister Zaljaf, why on earth would a humble jewel seller work so hard on his muscles?"

Zaljaf grimaced. "Swingin' a pick be hardah dan it looks, mon…" He replied, "I gotta get me gems from somewhere."

"I'm not convinced. Even worse is your flimsy claim of fatherhood. You have absolutely no evidence to show that you are Jenxa's father. For all I know, this could have been a kidnapping. More than a few men have captured young girls and gotten away with it by pretending to be their fathers."

Zaljaf gawked at him. He lurched off his stool, nearly stumbling thanks to his leg. "Ya…ya think _I'm_ a kidnapper? _Me?_ I toldja meself, mon! I ain't been ta Sen'jin since I came here!" He insisted urgently, "As fer wheddah or not I'm Jenxa's pa, well, dere be too many coincidences ta ignore! I may not have evidence, but dammit, I know what I been through!"

"Sit down." Gorrum ordered coldly. Zaljaf hovered for a moment, then sat back down. Gorrum shuffled his papers. "Impaling someone through their spine would require a great deal of strength, Mister Zaljaf. Regardless of what your relationship to Antu was, you are so far the only suspect with the physical capacity to perform such a deed. I was in the military too, Mister Zaljaf. I know what feats a berserker is capable of."

"I didn't do it, mon." Zaljaf answered, his eyes hardening. "I ain't gone berserk in years."

"Then who, Mister Zaljaf?" Gorrum gestured to Jenxa. "Her?"

"I dunno, mon! All I know is dat I didn't do it. Neithah did Jenxa. De real killah is still out dere. Yer lookin' in de wrong place."

"I don't think so, Zaljaf. I think my killer is sitting right here in this room. I'm just waiting for one of you to confess."

The two trolls stared at him. Jenxa began to cry. Gently, Zaljaf reached over and touched her shoulder. Slowly, the older troll turned to glare at Gorrum. "Look at dis. Look at whatcha doin', mon. Dere's a killah out dere somewhere. Bu' instead of lookin' like yer supposed ta, yer jus' torturin' innocent trolls."

Gorrum sighed deeply. He massaged the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to torture anyone. All the evidence we've gathered leads to you two. One of you must be the killer. That is, unless you have some new snippet you want to share."

"I did it."

Zaljaf and Gorrum simultaneously turned to look at Jenxa. She hid her face in her hands, tears dripping through her fingers. "Jenxa?" Zaljaf asked, gripping her shoulder. "Jenxa, what're ya sayin', girl?"

Jenxa lowered her hands. "I did it." She repeated, this time louder and with more emphasis, "I _did_ it."

Gorrum gaped at the young woman. "Is this a confession?" He asked incredulously. Jenxa nodded gravely, finally looking Gorrum in the eye. "You're saying that you killed your mother."

"I killed me muddah." Jenxa echoed, "I did it."

Zaljaf stumbled off his stool. "No. No, she's lyin'. It couldn'ta been her." He maintained, "Jenxa wouldn't hurt anyone."

"I did it." Jenxa repeated again. Zaljaf shook his head.

"No, girl, dun say dat. No." He begged, "Why're ya doin' dis?"

Gorrum rose from his desk. "Zaljaf, stand down." Zaljaf quickly got out of the way. Slowly, Gorrum walked up to Jenxa's stool. The troll girl looked him dead in the eye. Somehow, the confession had emboldened her. She no longer looked away or tried to hide her face. "You realize that this is a serious crime. If you're confessing in hopes that we'll let you go, that won't happen. If you are convicted, you will be imprisoned. You may even be killed."

"I killed me muddah." Jenxa reiterated with surprising force. "Jus' go ahead an' punish me. I dun wanna lie anymore."

"Jenxa, why're ya sayin' dis? Ya couldn'ta killed Antu…" Zaljaf contested, "Cap'n, ya said so yerself. She ain't strong enough."

"Be quiet." Gorrum ordered. He looked down at Jenxa, stroking his beard thoughtfully, "I want to hear what she has to say. Tell me, Miss Jenxa. Tell me what happened on the day of your mother's murder."

* * *

><p><em>Jenxa stood alone on the beach. A warm breeze swirled around her, fiddling with her hair and her long skirt. The sea stretched before her like widest road. Overhead, a seagull coasted on the ocean's warm updrafts. For a long time, Jenxa didn't move. Her feet sank into the rough, scalding sand. She stared into the distance, searching for the point where sea met sky and the two united in an interminable mass of blue.<em>

_Slowly, brushing her hair out of her face, Jenxa turned around and began walking back to the hut. Her bare feet slipped on the sand as she walked. 'Sell the pearl' Mother had said, 'So you can buy my potions.' Yet, instead of being a good girl and selling the tiny gem, Jenxa had thrown it back into the ocean. But why? She asked herself that question over and over, but she couldn't seem to come up with an answer. A tiny pearl like that wasn't worth much – at most, it would buy them dinner – but funds were perpetually tight and every coin counted. Mother had needs. _

_Jenxa paused halfway up the hill to Sen'jin. The gentle evening zephyr tugged at her skirts, ushering her in some unknown direction. Rarely did Jenxa leave the hut on her own – there was always someone watching her. Yet, as she stood there midway up the sand dune, she was alone. It was just her and the breeze. Her small act of defiance had gone unnoticed. Somehow, that made it even worse. Head down in shame, Jenxa trudged the rest of the way to the hut._

_To her surprise, Mother was out of bed. She stood by their small stove, weakly stirring the oyster pot with a long wooden spoon. Jenxa paused in the doorway, staring at her mother's back. Mother usually didn't even have the strength to make expressions, let alone get up and get dressed. Her clothes hung on her body like empty bags draped over a stick. "Mama?" Jenxa called gently from the doorway. Still stirring, her mother glanced over her shoulder. Her eyes were like dying embers in her head, the only thing about her that still bespoke of life._

"_You're back already, girl." Mama wheezed, "What did you do, sprint to the village?"_

_Jenxa hovered on the hut threshold. "What are you doing out of bed?"_

"_Someone had to look after the dinner, girl. It would have burned if I just let it sit."_

"_You ought to be in bed."_

_Mother set the wooden spoon aside and turned to look at Jenxa. "Don't order me around, girl. I'm not a child." She picked up the fire poker, opening the oven door and jabbing at the insides, "How much money did you get for the pearl?"_

"_I didn't sell it."_

_Slamming the oven door shut, Mother turned to look at Jenxa. The tip of the iron poker dragged on the ground as she moved. "What do you mean, you 'didn't sell it'?"_

"_I didn't. I didn't want to."_

_Mother's skeletal face twisted into a mask of annoyance. "Where is it, girl? Give it to me." She stumbled toward Jenxa, hand outstretched. The poker scraped loudly against the dirt floor._

"_I don't have it anymore." Jenxa replied, stumbling back. She lowered her head in shame. "I…threw it away."_

_Jenxa's mother made no expression, her face set in its mold of mild annoyance. "Why'd you do a fool thing like that? That could've bought me potions for a week." She rasped. "Don't you care about your old mother?"_

"_Yes, but…" Jenxa blushed._

"_But why? You know I'm hurting."_

"_It's just…I…I…"_

"_Just you being stupid and selfish, like usual!" Mother spat. She lifted the fire poker, jabbing Jenxa in the shoulder with the point. The tip was still hot. Jenxa squealed. "Do you think of anyone but yourself, girl?"_

"_I'm sorry." Jenxa whimpered, lowering her head._

"_You'd let your mother suffer?"_

"_I…I wasn't thinking about that."_

_Her mother sighed. "Of course you weren't. You're just like your father, never thinking about anything." With a huff, Mother turned back toward the stove. With her free hand, she picked up a pair of tongs and began pulling the boiled oysters out of the pot. The fire poker made a hollow, screechy sound as she dragged it across the swept dirt floor. Jenxa stepped forward to take the fire poker out of her mother's hand. She gripped the shaft, giving a gentle tug. With a sudden, unexpected burst of strength, Mother yanked it away from her. Jenxa yelped. Her mother lifted the poker, wielding it like a lance. "I'm keeping this with me."_

"_It's…It's heavy. You should give it to me." Jenxa muttered, "You could hurt yourself…"_

"_Don't talk back to me, girl!" Mother snapped, drawing the poker back as if to strike Jenxa. Jenxa stared. Mother was often too sick to even sit up. The bedsores made even the smallest movements torture. How was she doing this? Jenxa braced for impact, holding her arm out to stop the poker. The poker shaft hit her hand with a loud THWOK. Jenxa's wrist reverberated with pain. Before her brain even registered the action, Jenxa's fist closed around the poker. With a forceful tug, she yanked it out of her frail mother's hand. _

_Everything around her went red. Mother's mouth moved, but Jenxa couldn't hear her over the blood pounding in her ears. The poker felt like red hot iron in her hands. White sparks danced in the corners of Jenxa's eyes. Trembling, she took a step toward her mother._


	12. The Child

"And then what happened?" Gorrum asked. Jenxa simply shook her head.

Zaljaf didn't say anything. He sat on quietly on the stool, shoulders slumped. Gorrum gawked at Jenxa, making futile hand gestures as he tried to coax the rest of the story out of her. Jenxa merely kept shaking her head as if to say, 'That's all there is to it.' Finally, licking his lips, Zaljaf found his voice. "Takin' care o' someone like dat fer so long…dat's enough ta make anyone a lil' crazy." He muttered. Turning sharply, Gorrum glared at him.

"Do you have something to add?" The orc captain growled.

Zaljaf lifted his head. He pointed toward the papers strewn haphazardly over Gorrum's desk. "Ain't it obvious, mon? Ya can't be dat thick. Take a look at dem files again." Snapping up the papers, Gorrum frowned at the writing. He looked up at Zaljaf incredulously, "Antu was a berserkah too, mon. Jenxa's got it in da blood."

The orc's eyes danced over the print. "It doesn't say that anywhere on her immigration records." Gorrum grumbled, frowning at the paper, "All immigrants to Durotar are required to mention former occupations. Why would she lie about being a berserker?"

Zaljaf sighed. "'Cause dey's dangerous, mon! Takes years ta mastah de talent, if ya can even call it dat. Even den, dere be times when it…slips outta control." He responded, "Antu didn't wanna cause trouble fer herself."

Gorrum lowered the papers. He looked toward Jenxa, who sit there with her head lowered in shame. "Then…" He began, frowning, "that makes her a…?"

"Natural berserkah. Yah." Zaljaf replied, voice and expression deadpan, "S'in 'er blood."

"But…she's not even a warrior. She's…small and…her arms…" Gorrum stuttered, staring at Jenxa as though she'd changed colors. Zaljaf glanced toward the girl troll. He remembered when he was her age. He was the same as most troll teenagers – always spoiling for a fight. When he wasn't eating or sleeping, he was tussling with the other troll boys. As a young, aggressive troll, he was quick to anger. It wasn't long before he discovered the untold strength his anger gave him. He could barely win an arm wrestle when he was calm, but when he was enraged Zaljaf could kick down trees and demolish houses. Soon enough, the warrior trainers took notice. He wasn't the only troll in the village to possess such a strong talent for berserking. He fell in love with Antu the first time she beat him in a sparring match. They were lucky then. They had someone who understood them and could teach them. Jenxa had nothing.

"Tings like muscle dun mattah." Zaljaf said finally, "I dunno how ta explain it, mon. When ya go berserk, it's like yer in a whole diff'rent body. Everythin' turns red an', suddenly, it's like yer invincible."

"So, you're saying that Jenxa went berserk and killed her mother?" Gorrum asked, still gazing at Jenxa with disbelief. Zaljaf nodded. It was hard to believe a skinny-armed girl like Jenxa could manifest that kind of strength, but he knew it was possible. Before her training, Antu had been skinnier than Jenxa. Yet, with enough rage, she could beat all the warriors in the village single handed. "But…why hasn't this happened before? Jenxa, was this the first time something like this has happened?"

Jenxa nodded. "Yessir."

"Then…why now? How early does the berserking talent manifest?"

Zaljaf shrugged. "First happened ta me when I was jus' a lil' whelp. Prolly not older den ten."

"But Jenxa is eighteen."

"I…I…!" Jenxa began before Zaljaf could respond, "I…I didn't mean ta hurt anyone. 'Specially not Mama. It's jus'…I devoted meself ta her fer so long. I always did what she asked. Always. Never asked question 'r nuffin'. I was a good daughtah. I...I jus' got so frustrated."

Zaljaf turned toward Gorrum. "Dere's yer answer, mon." He sighed. He hated to think that Jenxa was the culprit, but was it really her fault? Next to him sat a girl who'd repressed her frustration for years. Was it her fault when it all spilled out in a lethal torrent? Still, she had the poker in her hand. She was the sole witness to the murder. When your vision started going red, that was the sign. Jenxa had never gone berserk before. She'd never had training. She didn't know how to control herself. At best, it was an accident. A horrible, brutal accident. "Listen, cap'n, it ain't her fault. She—"

Gorrum cut him off. "I've heard enough." He concluded. Both Zaljaf and Jenxa looked up, "If Jenxa is truly a berserker, then it seems her story is plausible after all. I am…shocked."

"It's true." Jenxa answered quietly, "I killed me muddah."

Gorrum sighed deeply, massaging the bridge of his nose. "I don't want to punish a young girl," He began in his low, grumbling voice, "but, luckily, I won't have to. Master Gadrin is in charge of dealing out punishments for troll criminals. Jenxa, you will be sent to Sen'jin village to receive your sentence. Zaljaf…you are free to go."

Zaljaf stumbled to his feet. "Free ta go? Free ta _go_?" He gestured wildly toward Jenxa, "She's me daughtah, mon! I can't jus' leave 'er!"

Gorrum scowled. "You have two options, Mister Zaljaf. Either you leave here in peace or I charge you for harboring a fugitive."

Zaljaf gawked at the old orc. "But…she's jus' a kid, mon. It's not her fault…"

"Zaljaf." Gorrum repeated sternly. Zaljaf gazed hopelessly at Gorrum, then turned to look at Jenxa. His long red hair, still unbound from the night before, fell across his cheek, shielding his face from the captain. Jenxa met his eyes. She sat perfectly still on her stool, unmoving and expressionless like a statue. Her blank mien was disturbing. Zaljaf swallowed hard. Lowering his head, he took a few steps back. There was nothing he could say.

* * *

><p>Jenxa rode on the back of the worg, bouncing in the saddle as it trotted down the path. They'd been riding for hours and Jenxa's thighs were sore from holding onto the worg. The orc in front of her didn't speak. Occasionally, he'd whisper commands to the worg, but otherwise, he was quiet. Jenxa struggled not to touch him. Her hands were tied tightly behind her back and she arched her spine away from the orc. Certainly, it was horribly uncomfortable riding like that, but she'd rather die than touch him.<p>

The orc controlling the worg was none other than the young man who'd arrested her just the other night, the same guard who'd accosted her in the marketplace. The same guard who'd offered her a ride to Orgrimmar that day in Razor Hill. Jenxa stared off into the distance. All of this was his fault. If he'd kept to himself and minded his own business, she wouldn't be in this situation. She'd be decked in gems, modeling next to Zaljaf's kiosk.

"We can, er, take a break, if you're tired." The young orc suggested, tugging gently on the worg's reins. The shaggy animal slowed to a walk, "Are…are you tired?"

Jenxa made no expression. "No. Keep goin'."

He brought the worg to a halt. "Well, my mount here needs a rest. It'll only be a few minutes." With a grunt, he swung his right leg over the saddle and hopped off. Taking a flask of water from the saddlebag, he poured some out for the worg. The animal arched it neck toward the bowl, gratefully lapping up the contents. Awkwardly, the orc turned toward Jenxa. "Do you want to walk around for a moment? Stretch out your legs?"

Jenxa frowned. "Awrigh'." The orc lifted her bridal style off the saddle and set her gently on the ground. Sighing, Jenxa kicked a stone. Overhead, the mid day sun poured heat down on the desert. Beneath her feet, the red sand scorched like hot coals. "'Ey…"

"Yeah?" The orc sat down on a nearby boulder. His bare shoulders glistened with sweat.

"What's yer name again?"

"Karg."

"Righ'. Dat was it." Jenxa nodded, rolling the rock around with the bottom of her foot. She could feel Karg looking at her, though she didn't make eye contact with him.

"You're, uh…" He began, "You're a quiet girl."

Jenxa shrugged. She didn't want to waste energy chatting up the orc who'd arrested her.

"Listen, I know you're mad about what happened, but I was just doing my job." Karg defended, "I…I don't have anything against you as a person. From what I've heard, it sounds like the murder was an accident…"

Jenxa glanced at him over her shoulder. "If I was mad," She began, "you'd prolly be dead by now, mon." She could hardly believe her own words. Still, there was no need for politeness now. When they arrived in Sen'jin, she would be stoned. That what Master Gadrin said anyhow. Mother killers were stoned to death in public. Why waste energy on politeness when death was just around the corner?

Karg blanched. "Well, ah…" He laughed nervously, "You're a little, ah, bolder than I thought you'd be."

"I got nuffin' left, mon. Nuffin' mattahs now." Jenxa replied sadly.

Karg frowned. "Don't…don't say that, now. Master Gadrin'll go easy on you, I bet. He was fond of you, right?"

"I'll be lucky if dey kill me quickly." Jenxa whispered. Karg grimaced.

"But…it was an accident. It wasn't something you could control."

"Ya tink dat mattahs?" Jenxa spat bitterly. The knowledge of her impending death made her stronger, somehow. Her former shyness seemed to evaporate, "I killed me muddah. Dat's unnatural. It upsets de spirits. I got…bad mojo, mon. Accident 'r no, I'm cursed by de spirits. Mastah Gadrin wouldn't bring a curse ta de village."

"We'll…we'll see when we get there." Karg murmured, getting to his feet. He helped Jenxa mount the worg. She could have run. In the heat, the orc would have been too tired to give chase. She couldn't will herself to do it, though. If this was the end, well, she might as well be a big girl and accept it. The spirits brought everyone to justice eventually. A painful death was all Jenxa deserved after what she'd done. Mother was old and needy and infuriating at times, but her behavior never warranted a murder.

Jenxa felt like a monster.

A tear rolled down her cheek and dripped into her lap.

* * *

><p>Word arrived first by bird. The desert hawks were quick flyers and could carry messages faster than any rider. The bird perched in Gadrin's window, a small scroll tied to its leg. Gently, Gadrin untied the message and released the bird. He and Vol'jin kept up a regular correspondence, but this was not one of Vol'jin's hawks. The sight of a Orgrimmar Guard messenger hawk put Gadrin's teeth on edge. There was only one reason the guard force would contact him – someone had committed a crime.<p>

It had only been a few days since Jenxa appeared at his hut, frightened and confused. She took him to see the body of her mother, impaled and pinned to a table. During that time, he wasn't able to extract the real story from her. She claimed responsibility for the crime, although Gadrin knew that couldn't be true. No daughter was more loyal than Jenxa. In the four years that her mother was ill, Jenxa never complained. She shouldered the burden by herself. Gadrin could not help but admire her for that. He knew it was impossible for her to kill her beloved mother. The spirits would never allow it. Still, in spite of the fact, Jenxa was determined to accept responsibility. That was why he'd sent her away. She was young and foolish. Perhaps she thought she was doing something noble by accepting blame for her mother's murder. She didn't know the consequences.

So, when Gadrin saw the guards' messenger hawk, he felt a stirring of panic. Was it Jenxa? What if she'd turned herself in, the foolish child? The note attached to the bird's leg confirmed his fears.

'_Jenxa, a former resident of your village, came forward this morning and confessed to the murder of her mother, Antu. I am sending her back to Sen'jin with one of my guards. You may do with her as you see fit. I trust your judgment. – Cpt. Gorrum of the Orgrimmar Guard'_

Jenxa never spoke much. By all accounts, she was a quiet girl. She fulfilled her filial duties with grace, but did little else. Admittedly, Gadrin did not know her well enough to guess her character. But what kind of person confessed to a murder they didn't commit? Especially one as sordid as a matricide? It was as though Jenxa had a death wish. Sitting in his hut, Gadrin examined the situation in his head.

His thoughts were interrupted when Minshina came bursting in from outside, carrying five or six large, fresh fish over his shoulder. "_Fishing went well today!_" He proclaimed cheerily in Zandali. All of a sudden, he noticed his brother's mood. The smile dropped off Minshina's face. Setting aside his catch and fishing rod, he turned toward his much older brother, "_Is there something wrong?"_

"_Jenxa's coming home._" Gadrin sighed, massaging his temples, "_The guards caught her. They think she's the one who murdered Antu._"

Minshina visibly bristled. _"I told them it wasn't her. It can't be her. They think that…_" Pausing, Minshina paced back and forth in front of the hut door, "_They think that just because she ran off, she's the murderer?_"

"_I don't know, little brother. I assume they'll tell us when they bring her here._" Gadrin passed Gorrum's note over to Minshina, who scanned it and then angrily tossed it aside, "_Gorrum is a smart man. He wouldn't send her here for punishment unless he knew she was the killer."_

"_But she's not! You and I both know that!"_ Minshina asserted, face purple with frustration, "_You'll let her go, won't you?"_

"_I can't. I have to hear what they have to say first, Minshina. You know that."_ Gadrin groaned as he rose from his chair. He gripped Minshina by the shoulder, holding him in place, "_Peace, brother. Don't pace like that. It's making me nervous."_

"_They think she's a killer. Are they blind? Have they even seen her? She's just a girl."_

"_Gorrum must have good reason. We'll hear them out._" Gadrin concluded, "_And, anyway, aren't you happy? You'll get to see your darling Jenxa again. Or have you already moved on to a new love?" _ The older troll smiled. Minshina grimaced, swatting his brother's hand away.

Minshina huffed. "_Seeing her won't do much good if she's dead._"

* * *

><p>Zaljaf couldn't go home. The guards escorted him off the compound shortly after the interrogation ended. He started toward home, but something invisible stopped him half way. His stomach clenched and sweat prickled on his skin. In a few hours, they'd put Jenxa on the back of a worg and carry her off to Sen'jin. His common sense told him not to get involved. Things were finally going well for him – he had a business all his own, he was making money. A dead wife and a murderess daughter would just muck everything up for him. Still, even if he tried, he couldn't simply go home and forget about them. Halfway between the guard compound and his house, he turned around and headed toward the mount vendor.<p>

"I need a worg." Zaljaf hobbled as fast as he could to the riding trainer. He was a bulky orc with a purple top knot and a braided beard. With his back to Zaljaf, he sat brushing his large grey worg. Slowly, he shifted to face the troll.

"Don't sell to trolls." The orc grumbled, "There's a raptor breeder in Sen'jin."

Zaljaf groaned. "Dat's where I'm goin', mon. I need ta get dere afore sundown today."

"Oh? Why're you in such a rush?"

"I gotta meet someone, mon." Zaljaf insisted, "It's urgent. Life 'r death."

"Life or death, huh?" The orc sighed, dropping his brush in a nearby empty bucket, "I suppose I could lend you a worg, if it's that important. Of course, you'll have to pay a fee. And I'll need collateral." Zaljaf turned out his pockets. He threw a handful of gold coins at the mount vendor's feet. Bending over, the mount vendor scooped up the coins and counted them. "This should be enough. What do you have for collateral?"

Zaljaf shrugged. "I…I dun have much, mon."

"I can't just let you take the worg without collateral." The orc replied, rising from his stool and rolling his shoulders.

"I'll bring it back, mon, I swear!" Zaljaf begged. He dug back into his pockets, searching for anything he could give to the vendor. Suddenly, his hand closed around something smooth. Pulling the object out of his pocket, he stared down at his hand. Jenxa's pearl necklace lay warm in his palm. She never took it off, even when she went to bed. Often times, before she went to sleep, he'd have to help her out of it. The night of their arrest, he'd taken it off her neck after dinner and slipped it unthinkingly in his pocket. Thrusting his hand toward the mount vendor, he offered the pearls. "Take dis as collateral, mon. I'll be back fer it."'

The vendor took the necklace, examining it with a critical eye. "This'll do." He declared, dropping the pearls in the bucket with his worg brush, "Go saddle up one of the dogs in the stable. They'll get you to Sen'jin."

Zaljaf bowed his head in thanks. Quickly, he turned and dashed for the stables. The first stall was home to a shaggy brown worg. Flies circled over the dog's head, lighting on his ears and back. Pulling open the stall door, Zaljaf grabbed a nearby saddle and hooked the worg in. Mounting the beast, Zaljaf gave it a swift kick and they were off.

The ride from Orgrimmar to Sen'jin was a long one. The heat of the red desert was hard on worgs, who were adapted for cooler environments. Several times, Zaljaf had to stop and let the mount rest. Jenxa would cry if she didn't get her necklace back. He had no way of knowing if they'd already carted her to Sen'jin or not. By mid day, he was nearly to Razor Hill. His best bet was to get there as early as possible to intercept them. Zaljaf knew what the Darkspear tribe did with mother killers. Still, Gadrin was nothing if not wise. Perhaps he'd listen.

Perhaps.


	13. The Truth

(Author's Note: I know absolutely nothing about voodoo, so please understand that the ritual depicted in this chapter is completely made up. I felt that since I'm writing about a fictional race, I could take a few liberties with their customs. Anyway, please enjoy.)

* * *

><p>The sun was sinking over the sea when the orc rode into the village square. Jenxa rode on the back of the saddle, her arms tied behind her back. Bringing the worg to a halt, the orc dismounted. Smiling awkwardly, he took Jenxa by the waist and lifted her off the worg as easily as one might lift a doll. Minshina watched silently from the hut window. A part of him wanted to go out and greet her. She looked profoundly uncomfortable standing there next to the orc – head down, hair undone, shoulders and neck deep blue with sunburn. His gut twisted painfully when he saw her. Still, his feet felt like anvils. Even if he did want to say hello, apprehension rooted him to the spot. What would happen if Gadrin <em>didn't<em> let her go? By day's end, she'd be dead. Words were useless to a dead girl. So Minshina kept still.

Gadrin approached him from behind. He clapped a hand on his younger brother's shoulder. "_So! Sen'jin's lost daughter returns. She wasn't lost for very long, was she?_"

Snorting, Minshina brushed off his older brother's hand. "_I wish you wouldn't joke about this._"

Gadrin frowned, lowering his head. "_I'm only trying to relax you, Minshina." _He patted Minshina's back, "_Come along, let's go say hello to our guests."_ Gripping his brother by the arm, Gadrin pulled him toward the door. Minshina trailed behind, purposefully dragging his feet. Overhead, the sky was colored with purple and orange. The stars were faint, just beginning to emerge as night time settled over the desert. A cool breeze drifted through the alleyways between huts. Tai'tasi's handmade wind chimes sang merrily in her doorway. Minshina didn't look at Jenxa as they approached. He kept his head down, staring at the patterns of footprints crisscrossing the square.

The orc, the same orc who'd investigated the village just a few days ago, bowed to Gadrin. He smiled and nodded to Minshina, who didn't respond. Gadrin elbowed him in the gut. Involuntarily, Minshina looked up. He nodded to Karg, peering at Jenxa out of the corner of his eye. She didn't move. Her long, yellow hair fell over her face like a curtain, obscuring any expression. "Erm…" Minshina blushed, searching for the right words, "It's…good ta see ya both again."

Karg frowned. "I wish we could meet under happier circumstances." The orc turned to look at Jenxa, "I guess you heard from Captain Gorrum. Miss Jenxa has confessed to her mother's murder."

Gadrin nodded solemnly. "I unnerstand." He began, "But is dere any proof?"

Karg bobbed his head. "Seeing that she was the sole known witness to the murder, we have to take her word for it." The orc sighed, "But we do have some evidence. A man came forward claiming to be her father. As it turns out, he was a berserker."

Gadrin raised an eyebrow. "All trolls can go berserk, mon. It ain't special."

"No…He did it a…a kind of specialty, I think." Karg rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment, "I don't quite understand it myself…"

"A specialty?" Gadrin echoed, "Oh! Well, ya see, I suppose some trolls go berserk a lil' easiah dan uddahs. Dey're a lil' strongah. Helps if ya got a sour tempah." He answered. Karg nodded, still frowning as though he didn't quite understand. "Let's talk 'bout dis inside, awrigh'?" Turning, Gadrin beckoned for everyone to follow him. Karg took hold of Jenxa's shoulder and pushed her ahead of him. Minshina came last, watching Jenxa and the orc from behind. Once inside, Gadrin offered Karg a chair.

"I've been riding all day, so I'd rather stand." The orc answered, keeping a firm hold on Jenxa's shoulder, "Anyway…this man – Jenxa's supposed father – claimed both he and Jenxa's mother practiced berserking as a special fighting style, I suppose. He said that Jenxa was naturally inclined toward berserking."

"I see." Gadrin replied, stroking his chin, "What's dis got to do wif Antu's murdah, though?"

"Jenxa claims she went berserk and murdered her mother." Karg answered. Minshina looked at his brother, trying to gauge his expression. There were stories of women going berserk. Some women even made fine warrior-berserkers. Still, these women were rare. Women simply didn't go berserk as often as men; even if they did, they weren't as strong. Minshina knew this. Gadrin, however, was the one who'd seen the body. Was a woman capable of that?

Gadrin frowned thoughtfully. "I didn't know Antu was a berserkah."

"No one knew. It wasn't even on her papers."

"So…all we got ta go on is Jenxa's word, along wif dis man's claim? Jus' who was he, anyway?"

Karg thought for a second. "A jewel seller. Named Zaljaf. He was middle aged, had red hair and a bad leg."

Gadrin shrugged. "Not familiah wif 'im. I guess he didn't come wif ya."

Minshina couldn't keep silent a second later. "_There's no proof here. This whole case is a farce. They don't know any more than we do._" He scoffed in Zandali. Karg looked at him curiously, obviously not understanding a word. Jenxa, who'd been still and quiet the whole time, lifted her head. She scowled at Minshina, her forehead creasing. Minshina watched her out of the corner of his eye, but did not speak to her.

"_Minshina, if you have something to say, say it in a language our guest can understand._" Gadrin scolded him. Minshina huffed.

"Ya call dat proof?" Minshina snorted at Karg. Karg blushed, glancing sheepishly down at his feet. "How da ya even know dat dis Zaljaf guy is Jenxa's real papa? He could jus' be lyin'."

Karg frowned. "Gorrum thought the same thing, but…well, he spoke about Miss Antu like he knew her very well. It didn't seem like a lie. And…and Gorrum's not a trusting man. It takes a lot to convince him of these things."

"It's jus' a big lie, mon. Jenxa ain't gone berserk once since she came 'ere. I know." Minshina insisted, "An' even den, a lady ain't strong enough ta impale a person like dat. It's a cover up. A big lie."

Karg's blush deepened. His face went a dark forest green. "Gorrum…believed it."

"Den yer both fools." Minshina reached out and snatched hold of Jenxa's other shoulder. With a forceful tug, he pulled her out of Karg's grip, "Ya come here, wantin' us ta stone a young girl ta death, a girl dat nevah did nuffin' wrong. I knew ya orcs were cruel, bu' not dis cruel."

"We're not cruel, we—"

Suddenly, Jenxa wrenched her shoulder free of Minshina's grip and slammed her head hard into his chest. Minshina stumbled backward, tripping over his own feet and falling heavily on his backside. Coughing, Minshina stared up at the troll girl. She stood over him, face dark with fury. Lines of anger crisscrossed her youthful, round face. "Ya call yerselves witchdoctahs!" She yelled hoarsely. Minshina sat dumbfounded on his rump. He'd never seen Jenxa act like this. She was normally so soft spoken. "If yer real witchdoctahs, look inta de nethah! Talk ta de spirits – dey'll tell ya what I done!"

"Jenxa!" Gadrin exclaimed, trying to grab hold of her. She scurried away from his hands.

"I made me peace wif death, so jus' do it! I'm a muddah killah! I'm unnatural! Jus' do it!" She screeched desperately at Gadrin, who could only stare. He gawked at Jenxa like she was a wild raptor, too dangerous to approach. Jenxa's face was purple as tears spilled out of her eyes. "I dun wanna wait anymore…!"

Minshina got to his feet, opening his mouth to say something, when they heard a cry from outside. Simultaneously, all four of them turned toward the door. Outside, a second worg rider appeared in the village square. The rider, a troll with messy red hair and a thin leg, nearly fell off his mount. He hit the dirt, stumbling weakly toward the door. Jenxa turned and, before anyone could move to stop her, bolted out the door. The red headed troll opened his arms to her, snatching her up in a frantic embrace. "Oh, tank de spirits! I was worried ya were already dead!" The rider exclaimed, squeezing her tightly.

"What's dis, mon?" Gadrin murmured, staggering toward the door. Karg peered out the window.

"It's her father. Zaljaf." He answered. The remaining three spilled outside. All around the square, doors and windows lit up with lanterns. Curious villagers peered out, looking to discover the source of the commotion.

Gadrin was the first to reach the rider and Jenxa. "Er…welcome." He began. The rider, panting, peered at Gadrin without recognition, "Yer dis girl's papa?"

"Yah." The rider – Zaljaf – answered. Minshina watched from the steps, "Dat's me."

Gadrin offered the newcomer his hand. "I'm Mastah Gadrin, de village witch doctah." Letting Jenxa go, Zaljaf shook his hand, "I…I've nevah seen ya 'round dese parts afore."

"It's been a while since I been here, mon." Zaljaf breathed, glancing around the quiet village, "I…I didn't even know Jenxa was here."

"Yer really her papa?" Gadrin repeated. Again, the rider nodded. Gadrin peered into the crippled troll's face searchingly, then looked at Jenxa. "I see…She's got yer eyes."

Minshina's skin grew hot with frustration. He stormed off the steps, charging up behind his older brother. "It's a lie! Dey dun look anythin' alike." The way Jenxa had embraced the old troll made him angry. What happened to the quiet girl he'd liked so much? The old Jenxa would never headbutt anyone. The old Jenxa never yelled or pitched a fit or embraced strange men. "What've ya done to her?"

Gadrin held his younger brother back. "Minshina! Peace!" At his brother's bidding, Minshina paused. He looked at the two trolls before him – the old man and the young girl. Jenxa rested her head against Zaljaf's shoulder, her small frame trembling with quiet sobs. The older troll stroked her hair gently as though he'd been comforting her all his life. Minshina hated the sight of them. This man, whoever he truly was, had taken the sweet, quiet Jenxa and twisted her into something ugly. Gadrin looked back to the couple. "Yer Antu's mate, den?"

The older troll looked down at his feet, frowning. "Well…we…I ain't seen her since Jenxa was born. It's been…years." Glancing up, he stared entreatingly at Gadrin, "I dunno how much she's told ya, bu' I really am her pa. It ain't a lie. Dis whole murdah was an accident…ya see…"

Master Gadrin lifted a hand to silence him. The redheaded troll went quiet. "We only got one way o' knowin', mon. Everyone's sayin' diff'rent tings an' we must separate de truf from de lies. We must consult de spirits."

Minshina growled. "It's all a lie. I dunno what he's done ta her, bu' she ain't de same!"

"Peace, Minshina! De spirits will reveal all." Gadrin barked.

"It's a lie! I won't stand fer dis!" Minshina whirled around and stormed through the village. How could his brother be so sightless? His brother, who was one of Vol'jin's personal friends and advisors! His brother, the wise witchdoctor of the village! Something wasn't right. There was indeed something unnatural happening, but it wasn't with Jenxa. There was a foul aura around that crippled troll. How could his brother not see it?

Minshina didn't look back. He made for the shoreline. There, across a calm stretch of water, lay the Echo Isles, wreathed in lush greenery. The moon was rising now and cast a soft, soothing pallor over the jungle trees. Breathing deeply, Minshina stripped off his clothes. He needed time alone. Everyone avoided the isles, not just because of the fierce tigers but because of the rumors of foul magic. Zalazane, Gadrin and Vol'jin's long lost friend, was rumored to be roaming the islands. But that was years ago. Either way, Minshina was young and strong. He had nothing to fear from tigers or corrupted witchdoctors. All he needed was a quiet space to ponder the situation.

Wading into the water, he swam toward the lonely isles.

* * *

><p>Zaljaf hadn't visited Sen'jin in years. In the few years that he'd been gone, the village had nearly doubled in size. "The village…er…it's gottan biggah." He mentioned awkwardly as Gadrin lead them back into the hut. Gadrin paused at the threshold, smiling vaguely at the town.<p>

"Yah…well, trolls ain't livin' on de isles anymore." He answered, ushering everyone inside.

"Why?"

"Dey's cursed. Zalazane polluted de land wif dark magic. Ain't safe anymore." Gadrin sighed. He glanced toward the shore, "Minshina'll be back. Poor boy – it's been a hard time for 'im."

Jenxa bowed her head. "I'm sorry."

Gadrin tried to smile again, but couldn't quite manage it. "It ain't yer fault, Jenxa. We all thought ya was dead, includin' 'im. Dis whole situation…it's a strain on 'im. Bu' he'll be back once he's cooled off, no worries. Bu'…enough o' dat…"

Zaljaf kept an arm protectively around Jenxa's shoulder. "De murdah, Mastah Gadrin. Ya gotta unnerstand, it was an accident. Jenxa's nevah had trainin'. She couldn't control 'erself."

Gadrin shook his head. "De spirits will tell me all I need ta know, mon." Bowing graciously to his guests, Gadrin vanished into a back room. Zaljaf was left standing alone in the room with Jenxa and the orc who'd arrested them. Words felt useless. For the life of him, Zaljaf could not think of anything to say. Neither could the other two, judging by their silence. Jenxa leaned against him, resting her head in the crook of his neck. The orc stood apart from them, rocking back and forth on his feet. All three of them avoided eye contact.

Everything was quiet for a few minutes. Zaljaf stroked Jenxa's hair. She'd finally stopped crying. Now she stood quietly by his side, her eyes downcast and expression blank. "Jenxa…" He breathed. She looked up at him, her expression suddenly soft, "Ya feelin' awrigh'?"

She shook her head. "No…bu'…I'm glad yer here."

"I am too, mon. I…couldn't jus' leave ya. Yer me kid. I'd be a bad papa if I left me kid behind."

Jenxa smiled softly. She nuzzled his shoulder. "Yer not a bad papa."

Zaljaf chuckled gently. "Well…from now on, I'm gonna try me best ta be a beddah papa. Awrigh'?"

"Awrigh'." Her smile warmed his heart. He didn't know how long they had left together, but he would try his best for the remainder.

* * *

><p>Gadrin hesitated in the back room. He kept his supplies here – flasks for potions, vials of ingredients, shrunken heads. He could hear Jenxa and the old redhead troll talking in the other room. Sighing, he gathered up a mortar and pestle as well as a handful of flasks and herbs. The Loa would not answer him easily – they reviled unnatural murders. Trolls who died peacefully became charges of the Loa. Murder victims, however, tended to linger. They remained soldered to the mortal plane, often trapped in the places they died. Sometimes, though, they broke free and wrecked the lives of those who'd wronged them. Bwonsamdi, if he answered at all, would not be pleased with Antu's fate. It would take some coaxing to get the spirits to reveal the truth.<p>

Balancing his supplies in one arm, Gadrin stepped out into the main room. Jenxa, Zaljaf, and the orc guard all waited for him. Kneeling, he laid his supplies out on the floor. He took a ceremonial bone handle knife from his belt and approached Jenxa. With a clean swipe, he cut off a lock of her hair. "Yours too, Mistah Zaljaf." He said, turning to Zaljaf. Zaljaf took the knife and cut off a length of hair, handing both the lock and the knife back once he was finished. Gadrin dropped the two stands in the mortar bowl. Biting his bottom lip, he dug the knife point into the fleshy part of his palm. Blood dripped into the bowl with the hair. Karg went pale as Gadrin cut himself. Spotting Karg's expression, the witchdoctor laugh gently. "Blood draws angry spirits, mon."

"I see…" Karg looked away, covering his mouth with his hand.

Mixing the hair and the blood with a few herbs, Gadrin ground it together into a fine, reddish paste. Ritual bleeding had long been banned by the orcs of the Horde (it had unsavory connotations of demon magic for them), but Gadrin was an experienced witch doctor. Offerings of blood and flesh were the quickest way to draw out spirits. The body was the anchor for the spirit. Jenxa was Antu's kin. A piece of her, even just her hair, would prove a lure to Antu's restless ghost. Zaljaf's would work too, if he was truly once her mate.

Zaljaf beckoned the three to sit next to him. He lifted the red paste so everyone could see it. "Wit dis small offerin', I will attempt ta coax Antu's wanderin' soul back here, so dat she may tell me what happened on de day o' her murdah."

Karg grimaced as he knelt next to Gadrin. "Will this even work? I've never heard of people calling back spirits of the dead…"

"Dere's resurrection magic, ain't dere?" Gadrin scoffed, "Dis magic be much oldah dan anythin' ya orcs can conjure. It's magic o' de blood, body, an' soul – de most powahful magic. If dis cannot lure a spirit, nuffin' can." With that, Gadrin struck a match and dropped it into the past, letting the contents catch fire. Thin plumes of smoke swirled up from the burning paste. Reverently, Gadrin closed his eyes and inhaled deeply.

He waited.

Just like the smoke, visions wafted through his mind. He saw the jungles of Stranglethorn, lush, vibrant, and teeming with life. He saw two young trolls, a male and a female, sparring in an isolated village. The vision followed the two. Gadrin watched as they grew into adults, fighting alongside each other during the day and sharing a bed at night. Yet their idyllic relationship could not last. An unborn infant – a spark of resentment between the lovers. A distaste that grew in the woman's heart as she nurtured her child. An accident – the man is crippled and unable to walk. The woman sees her escape.

The vision shifted. He was no longer following a couple. Now he saw the woman with her child, a young, healthy girl. The woman struggles to provide for the infant, living alone in the deep jungle as she does. Yet there is still something amiss – the mother's love is tempered with bile. 'Why do you exist?' She asks the baby sleeping in the cradle, expecting no response. 'I didn't want you.' She secludes herself with the child, sheltering it like a proper mother. Yet the child, young as she is, recognizes the antipathy beneath her mother's love.

Blue sky blazes over an empty orange desert. Boats tentatively dock on the unfamiliar shore. There sits the mother, her child now fourteen and a young woman. They find a hut in the growing village of Sen'jin. The mother, wary of the other trolls, keeps her child secluded. The heat makes her tired and ill. She can't run as she used to or hunt. Soon the sickness takes hold and she can't even get out of bed. The child, raised like a proper troll girl, stays faithfully at her side, taking the brunt of her mother's frustrations.

The child is now eighteen, a full grown woman. The mother hates the sight of her. The child reminds her of her lost youth. Eighteen years worth of hidden resentment quickly boils to the surface, ready to explode at the slightest spark. A pearl. The girl throws it away –selfish! A fire poker. Oysters. Stupid, selfish girl. Always ruining my life. Always messing things up. She's selfish and thoughtless, just like her father! He forced this bad child on me, took away my youth. She's just like him! Just like him –

Gadrin's eyes snapped open. He held his head, dizzy with the smell of smoke. For a moment, he heard Antu's voice. Still reeling, he looked toward Jenxa. "I see it now." He murmured quietly. Jenxa's expression hardened. Yes, she looked exactly like Antu when she frowned. Only the eyes were different. She had the soft, amber eyes of her father. "Antu struggled all dese years ta love ya, Jenxa, bu' all she ever saw in ya was her lost youth. Her squandered opportunities. When she fell ill, she couldn't hold dat resentment back any longah."

Jenxa lowered her head.

Now, Gadrin looked toward Zaljaf. "An' you. Antu hated ya fer givin' her dis child. She nevah wanted de burden o' a kid. She wanted ta fight an' drink like a man all 'er life." Zaljaf closed his eyes in shame, "Bu' I see now. Ya are Jenxa's papa."

"I know." Zaljaf squeezed Jenxa's shoulder.

Gadrin nodded. "Jenxa…ya bore de weight o' yer mother's ill will fer eighteen years. Dat's a heavy burden, mon. I seen it all in a vision jus' now, clear as day. Bu'…it does not excuse yer actions. Ya murdah'd yer own muddah. De spirits cannot forgive dis."

A tear rolled down Jenxa's cheek. "I'm sorry."

Zaljaf started to his feet. "Ya can't kill her, mon. Ya can't. She's jus' a kid." He begged, "Listen…I was a berserkah once. I know de tricks. I could teach her, make sure dis nevah happens again."

Gadrin closed his eyes. Frowning, he shook his head. "Jenxa bears a curse. I cannot let dis curse remain in me village, mon."

"I'll take her far away! Ya won't ever see us again!" Zaljaf pleaded. Slowly, Gadrin rose to his feet.

"Antu's ghost will not rest until de one dat killed her is dead. It is a curse dat will plague Jenxa fer de rest o' her days. It is a curse even I cannot dispel, mon." Gadrin replied sadly, "I would not wish dis curse on any place. Not Orgrimmah, not Stormwind, not nowhere."

"Den we'll move." Zaljaf concluded. Gadrin peered at him curiously, "I'll take Jenxa an' we'll move from place ta place like de Tauren once did. De curse won't be able ta catch us."

Gadrin stroked his chin. "Perhaps dat would work. Killin' a young girl seems too cruel, even if she is undah a curse. If ya keep movin', den, maybe ya can outrun de vengeful spirits." Turning, he placed a hand on Jenxa's shoulder, "Jenxa…what ya did cannot be forgiven, bu'…perhaps if ya spend de rest o' dis life atonin', de spirits will pardon ya."

"Atonin'?" Jenxa echoed.

"Make sacrifices, girl." Gadrin answered. "Give yer blood an' body ta appease de spirits. Learn ta swing a blade, den give de flesh o' yer enemies to de Loa. If ya work hard, ya can lift de curse an' make sure yer descendants aren't plagued by de dead. Ya unnerstand?"

Jenxa nodded gravely. "Yah." She looked up, "Thank ya, Mastah Gadrin."

Gadrin inclined his head. "Minshina begged me ta let ya go. Even if it's against me bettah judgement, I'll grant his request dis time." He gazed gravely at the two trolls, "Leave Sen'jin. I won't have dis curse plaguin' me village."

Jenxa took Gadrin's hand. Her palms were soft. "Goodbye." She said quietly before letting go. With the barest hint of a smile, Zaljaf draped an arm around her shoulder. Without so much as a glance backward, the two trolls disappeared into the night.


	14. Epilogue

**Epilogue**

Zaljaf sat in the front seat of the caravan, chewing meditatively on a length of sugarcane. Alongside the caravan, their two small kodos grazed idly on the hill. A warm zephyr stirred the long, green grass, rippling up and down the hillside. Overhead, great white clouds rolled silently across a blazing blue sky, casting lengthy shadows over the knolls. The massive plateaus of Thunder Bluff stood silhouetted against the white mid-day sunlight. Snorting, Zaljaf threw the rest of his sugarcane aside. One of the kodos let out a guttural baying. "I know, I know." Zaljaf sighed. Shifting, he inched out of the seat and dropped onto the ground, "She'll be back soon."

As if on cue, Jenxa appeared on the top of the next hill, hauling a large sack of kodo feed. "I'm back!" She called cheerily, her muscles straining as she carried the feed sack over the knoll. Zaljaf hobbled out to help her, shouldering as much of the large sack as he could. "Thanks, papa! Dis ting is really heavy…"

"Ya carried it all dis way by yerself? Heh! Yer gettin' strongah by de day." Carrying it between them, they towed the feed sack to the back of the caravan and threw it inside. Zaljaf grinned, wiping off his brow, "Glad ta see de exercise is payin' off."

Jenxa flexed her bicep. Her muscles swelled under the skin. Zaljaf couldn't help but smile. On her back, Jenxa carried a heavy wooden maul. The shaft of the weapon was decorated with brightly colored bits of string and feathers. He'd given her the maul the day they'd left Orgrimmar. If they were to be travelling, she had to carry a weapon and learn to fight. Channeling her aggression through focused combat would also help her master her berserking. Still, she'd hated the maul when she first got it. It was plain, sturdy wood with no embellishments (most of Zaljaf's money went to buying the caravan and the kodos). Along their travels, though, she'd picked up vibrant pieces of shells, glass, and string, and added them to the maul. It was now more of an art project than a weapon, but it still served its purpose.

"I'll get de kodos, papa." Jenxa beamed, giving Zaljaf a mock salute, then went to go hitch up the kodos. With a grunt of effort, Zaljaf climbed into the back of the caravan. His jewelry making tools lay spread out on a low desk in the back with the supplies. Creating fine jewelry required a steady hand and the bumping of the wheels didn't help, but the transition from a stationary shop to a mobile one had gone surprisingly smoothly. The brightly painted caravan drew the eyes of many a curious customer. While Jenxa had grown a bit more muscular in the last few months, she was still a capable model and enjoyed wearing the jewelry. They'd departed from Orgrimmar and travelled down through the barrens, stopping at all the towns along the way. Thunder Bluff loomed before them. The Tauren were a plain, dignified people, but they loved jewelry same as anyone else. Zaljaf felt at ease.

Jenxa poked her head around the side of the caravan. "Erm…" She looked down, blushing, "How do I get de kodos in de harness again?"

"Jus' call 'em ovah wif a whistle…or get some food fer dem. Den slip de harness on ovah de antlahs." Zaljaf bent over, rooting around in a nearby sack. He tossed Jenxa a pair of apples. "Dat should do it."

Jenxa grinned. "Thank ya!"

"Oh, wait!" Zaljaf called. Jenxa paused. Shifting through his tools, Zaljaf picked up a small, soft bag, "I keep meanin' ta give dis ta ya, bu' I always forget. Here." He tossed it to her. Jenxa caught it deftly. She peered into the satchel and let out a little squeal of pleasure. Zaljaf grinned as she reached in and pulled out her pearl necklace.

"I thought it was lost ferevah!" She exclaimed, lifting the necklace so that it glinted in the light.

"Nah, mon. I kept it fer ya. I knew ya'd want it back." He hobbled to the edge of the caravan, sitting down on the edge next to Jenxa. He helped Jenxa tie it around her neck, "Pearls suit ya, Jenxa. I, ah, also added sometin'."

Jenxa looked down at her necklace. An oval-shaped natural pearl hung on her collarbone. She fingered the natural pearl, smiling in awe. "Where'd ya get dis?"

"Off a goblin in Ratchet. A bit expensive, bu' yer worth it." Zaljaf answered. Jenxa beamed, hugging him tightly around the neck. It was hard to believe this smiling girl had committed a murder. The events in Orgrimmar seemed like they'd happened years ago Zaljaf hugged her back. Murder or not, she was his daughter. He'd promised to be a better father in Sen'jin and he intended to keep that promise.

* * *

><p>(Author's Note: Thanks for reading! This is my longest fic to date and while it does have some flaws, I really enjoyed writing it. I hope you also enjoyed it. I love reviews, so don't be afraid to leave a comment or a criticism. Also, if you liked this, please take a look at my other fics.)<p> 


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